


Orlaid

by bushviper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape (Backstory), Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/pseuds/bushviper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loghain Mac Tir is stuck at Vigil's Keep, under the authority of the new Orlesian Warden-Commander. He hates it, and he hates her, but he keeps finding himself in compromising positions. So NSFW, very light on plot, much heavy on smut, wow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demonstration

**Author's Note:**

> My first time posting on AO3! This is total Loghain smut, because he's the actual hottest and I love him, especially when he's pissed off.
> 
> This story has lots of potential triggers, including dub con, humiliating dirty talk, and a discussion of past sexual trauma. Read at your own risk.

The Warden-Commander was infuriating.

Her Orlesian manners offended at every encounter. Two-faced, indirect, mocking, supercilious. He hated the way she talked, the way she walked, the way she tipped her head to listen to him with a sarcastic smile on her lips. He hated the way her lips always looked full and soft and wet and abnormally pink. She must color them, some ridiculous Orlesian artifice.

Not half his age, but she knew everything. Maker forbid he give direction, or make a suggestion, or draw upon his  _literal decades of experience_  leading men in combat, oh no. She had everything completely under control. He might as well retire to the fireside and enjoy a hot toddy in his dotage, for all the care she gave his opinion. Ridiculous, arrogant, insufferable  _child._

And yet, uncomfortably, nothing like a child at all. Little girls don't have lush rounded breasts and deadly curves for hips. Little girls don't make off color comments and then glance at you sideways while they lick their lips. Little girls don't stare at you with a threat and a promise that can only be answered with sweat and skin. Little girls have skinned knees and pigtails, not pouting lips and the hottest arse in Ferelden – or Orlais, he'd wager.

How many times had he nearly talked himself into asking her to release him to Denerim, to represent the Wardens at court? Anora desired it, he desired it, and the Warden-Commander clearly had no use for him. And yet as soon as his argument took shape in his mind, he talked himself out of it again. How could he leave Amaranthine in the hands of this Orlesian vixen? He had a duty to his country and his daughter to remain – stalwart, steadfast, and suspicious. Ever vigilant against treachery and treason. She could not send him scampering back to Denerim like a blushing choir boy, no matter how indecently she behaved. He was a stronger man than that.

At least, she was relatively quiet. He wouldn't have been able to live a day with her, if she were constantly screeching and squawking like Eamon's little peahen, but the Warden-Commander's voice had a low, smoky quality to it that would have been very pleasing to his ears indeed, if it came with a Fereldan accent. She moved quietly, too, stalking around Vigil's Keep like a fox on the hunt, often appearing at his elbow before he realized she was in the room. At least the taint in their blood gave him some warning, but with other Wardens around, the effect was muddied. He did not like it one bit when she snuck up on him.

Speak of the devil…

"Loghain?" She never bothered to knock, but the lilted question at the end of his name was a little more courtesy than she usually afforded him. He looked up from the book he had not been reading, and scowled.

"What is it?" he barked, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. A slow smile spread across her lips, as if he had answered exactly as she wanted him to. Another game.

She grabbed the lone wooden chair from his tiny dining table and dragged it over to his reading nook.

"May I sit down?" she asked, unnecessarily, as she dropped gracefully into the seat.

"No," he replied dryly.

"Thank you." She made a habit of answering as if he had given the reply she desired, no matter what he actually said. It made him want to shake her by the shoulders.

"Are you hard of hearing, Warden-Commander?"

She rolled her eyes and tipped her head. "You should be grateful that I correct your manners in my mind. The Loghain of my imagination is as charming as he is impressive."

Empty flattery. If she really felt impressed by him, she would heed his advice on occasion.

"What do you want?"

"I hoped for your counsel on a matter."

You could have knocked him over with a feather. Since when did the all-knowing Orlesian need counsel? It was if she had read his mind – Maker forbid! It must be a trick. She leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. Her form-fitting leather tunic was cut a little low in the front, offering him a tempting view of her… what did the Orlesians call it? Décolletage? He resolutely kept his eyes on hers.

"Yes?" he snarled. She frowned, her dark brows drawing together across her smooth, tan forehead, and she caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

"I'm to meet with the nobles of Amaranthine next month to accept their oaths of fealty, but I know little about Fereldan manners, other than that my own are likely to offend." She offered him a self-deprecating smile, followed by a small shrug that was so very Orlesian, it made him grit his teeth. "Since you are the only one here with real experience in Fereldan…society…I was hoping you could offer some guidance. I wish this event to be as advantageous and  _brief_  as possible."

Loghain did not bother to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"You could start by not behaving as if the very idea of Fereldan society is as laughable as a flea circus," he growled. "Whether or not an Orlesian can acknowledge anything beyond the tip of her nose, there is a wide world of culture beyond Val Royeaux."

He saw the flicker of her jaw when she clenched her teeth.

"An excellent point, Loghain. I must adjust my attitude." She said it lightly, but her eyes flashed dangerously.

Loghain lifted a brow and harrumphed. "I have no doubt that you could sooner adjust your eye color than your attitude, Warden-Commander. Have you any skill as an actress?"

It was an insulting question. Loghain knew enough about Orlais to know that actresses were women of ill-repute, renowned as much for their skill in the bedroom as on the stage. He was gratified by the bright blush that stained her cheeks, but he was not prepared for her response.

"As a matter of fact, I do, Warden! Would you care for a demonstration?"

"By all means," he replied. He would not back down from a challenge, not from her.

She took him by surprise, though, when she lunged forward and kneeled between his spread thighs.

"Maker's breath! What are you doing, child?" he gasped, pushing against her shoulders, but she stubbornly looped her hands around his ankles and dug in her heels.

"Demonstrating," she snapped.

"Surely this can't be your plan to secure oaths of fealty," he groaned, as she rubbed her cheek against his inner thigh. She laughed then, a husky chuckle that made his cock twitch.

"No, I don't intend to buy Amaranthine's loyalty with my tongue, but I'd have yours."

She looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and serious. Her dark hair fell in waves to her comely, well-formed shoulders and Maker take him if he didn't want to accept her offer, but it was wrong in every sense of the word. He grabbed her arms and tried to force her to her feet.

"This is entirely unnecessary." He attempted to lift her but his position left him little leverage and she was strong, hanging onto his legs like an octopus.

"Loghain." Her Orlesian accent muddied the transition between the syllables and irritated his ears. "Sometimes the unnecessary is a lot of fun." She winked at him and rubbed her cheek against his thigh again, then turned her face and nipped sharply.

"I meant that you don't need to whore yourself to secure my loyalty," he snapped viciously. Despite his brain's total lack of enthusiasm for this encounter, his cock was responding to her touch. The traitor.

The Warden-Commander laughed. "You think calling me a whore will send me back to my rooms with my tail between my legs? I've been called worse by better men, Loghain. And I happen to know several whores with more pristine reputations than yours." She shifted forward and began unlacing his breeches.

"Enough!" Loghain pushed her back on her heels. His erection strained against his leather leggings and his face flushed when she glanced at it significantly.

"I haven't had nearly enough," she purred. "You don't have to  _like_  me to enjoy me, Warden. Just sit back and let me… demonstrate."

Loghain peered at her in consternation. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

The Warden-Commander laughed, and for once there was no mocking edge to her mirth. "An orgasm, hopefully? I assume you're enough of a gentleman that you'll return the favor."

She never ceased to surprise him.

"You can't be serious, Commander."

She grinned. "Are you so insensible to your own charms, Loghain? I've been coming on to you for weeks, surely you've noticed."

He had, but he thought it all a twisted Orlesian plot to weaken his vigilance. He wasn't sure he was wrong.

"This is inappropriate. You're young enough to be my daughter."

The Warden-Commander rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure your daughter has given a blow job in her life, so get over it."

Although a less arousing sentence could not have issued from her lips, the sensation of her deft fingers again unlacing his fly stirred his cock anyway. She was astoundingly efficient, quickly reaching in his pants and twisting his member free of his breeches. He moaned softly as she licked her palm and then stroked it firmly up and down his shaft.

"Let me take you, Loghain. No tricks, no games. Just fun."

She turned her face and nuzzled his cock, snaking her tongue out and caressing him with quick, wet licks. He couldn't bring himself to give permission, but he sat back in his chair and spread his legs wider, and she grinned.

Maker's breath! He was not prepared for the sensation of engulfing heat and moisture when she plunged to the base of his shaft, her nose nestling against his belly before she slowly dragged her lips back up to the head of his cock. He hissed in surprise, his fingers twisting in her dark, silky hair. Her tongue was unbelievably talented as it swirled around his dick, so soft, wet, and firm, almost unsettling in its ability to wring pleasure from him. She gripped his member with a juicy palm and stroked insistently, while her mouth chased her fingers with excruciating suction. It was beyond intense. Beyond imagining. This infuriating, ridiculous,  _Orlesian_  Warden was giving him the best blow job of his life, and he was nearly too lost in an erotic haze to contemplate her motives.

"This isn't… right," he growled, gently pushing her hair out of her face as she swallowed his cock enthusiastically. She hummed her response, and the vibrations shook him deep into his balls, wrenching an agonized moan from his lips.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he panted. She pulled up, slowly. Her lips and tongue caressed every inch of his shaft before she placed a slurpy kiss upon the head of his cock, and then she looked up at him and grinned.

"Do you want me to stop?" She pumped his dick with her hand as she asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

"No," he growled, and reached for the back of her head, pushing her face back down towards his crotch. Her response was a rich cascade of laughter that brought a smirk to his lips, then another groan as her mouth consumed him once again.

Finally giving over to the experience, Loghain sat back and let himself truly enjoy the Warden-Commander's ministrations. She went all in, he had to give her that. Lips, hands, tongue, teeth: all the weapons in her arsenal were deployed against his dick in a sexual onslaught that left him rigid and panting, torn between the need for release and the desire to make the pleasure last. When he couldn't take any more, he growled a strangled warning, but to his surprise, the Warden-Commander did not back away in the slightest. Instead, she sucked him all the way into her throat, her tongue sinuating frantically against his shaft, and when he came, the base of his cock bucked against her teeth. The sensation overwhelmed him; it was if she had sucked every ounce of pleasure within him, from the tip of his toes to top of his head, and swallowed it.

"Maker's breath!" he muttered, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. The Warden-Commander trilled a very Orlesian giggle, and he closed his eyes, appalled at himself. How could he have let her do… _that?_  He felt her lick him clean from balls to tip and then tuck his cock back in his pants, although she didn't bother to lace them.

"Well? Is it my turn?"

He sat up and looked at her, incredulous.

"Madame, you must be joking.  _Get out._ "

She glared at him in open-mouthed shock. "You can't be serious."

"I most certainly am! You come into my quarters uninvited, you  _assault_  me over my protestations, and then you expect me to service you? This is a Grey Warden keep, not a brothel. Get out of my sight before I report you to Weisshaupt!"

She placed her hands on his knees and pushed herself gracefully into a standing position, staring down at him with a curious, calculating expression. Then, she shrugged and turned around, her hips swaying in her tight leather breeches as she offered an irresistible view of her ass. She glanced at him over her shoulder with a knowing smile.

"As you say, Warden. Good night."


	2. Retaliation

Sylvie stood in her sock feet in the armory, digging through a chest of boots. The Grey Wardens had issued her a standard set of splintmail armor when she was stationed in Vigil's Keep, and it was serviceable enough, but so  _loud._  Around the keep, she usually just wore leather leggings, a tunic, and her favorite doeskin boots, but she needed something that offered more protection on expeditions. If she didn't find some high quality leather armor, every darkspawn in a hundred miles would hear her coming the minute she put a toe outside the keep.

As she bent over the chest, she heard the door behind her open and close – and then, curiously, the crossbar was lowered to bolt it. Sylvie stood up and turned around.

Loghain advanced upon her, a thunderous scowl on his face. Sylvie's heart began to pound. She had avoided the Fereldan general since their heated encounter, uninterested in provoking him to kick the Weisshaupt hornets' nest. Besides, she had a hunch that eventually, desire would overrule prejudice and he would come back for more – and judging by the rather obvious ridge in his breeches, that day had come.

"Can I help you, Loghain?" she asked innocently.

He stood in front of her, glaring balefully down his hooked nose. The shirt he wore offered a tantalizing glimpse of collar bone and chest, covered in coarse black hair that absolutely delighted her. She wanted to lick him from chin to belly button, but she waited for him to make his move.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her close to him and twisting her arm behind her back. His other hand began pulling at the laces on the front of her tunic.

"I'm going to fuck you," he whispered roughly.

Sylvie whimpered. It was as if he'd sent a lightning bolt straight to her nether regions. She was already wet and panting as he undid her shirt and then reached inside to manhandle her breasts. He pushed the tunic down over her shoulders, fully exposing her chest and confining her arms to her sides. Not that she couldn't have wiggled free if she wanted to, but she didn't particularly want to.

Loghain let go of her arm and brought both hands to her breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs across her nipples. He was breathing hard and Sylvie felt the air stir the hair at her temple every time he exhaled. For a moment, he simply stood there, fondling her and staring at her chest as if it held the answer to some mystery in his mind, but then he looked up at her face and sneered.

"Look at you! Standing before me with your tits out like a common harlot. Were you raised in a brothel?"

Sylvie was not, in fact, raised in a brothel, but Loghain seemed to get off so much on calling her a whore that she was half-inclined to pretend she was. She didn't give a nug's nuts if he insulted her, as long as he did it in that low, gravelly voice that practically dripped with desire. Having no answer for him, she simply shrugged, knowing that particular gesture infuriated him, and sure enough, his eyes darkened and he pinched her nipples roughly.

"Turn around."

She did as she was told, rubbing her ass against his impressive erection as she did so. He sucked in a hissing breath and ripped at the laces of her leggings, pushing them down over her hips and taking her small clothes with them. Then he reached past her and closed the lid of the trunk.

"Get on your knees and present yourself to me."

Flames! Sylvie shivered as she lowered herself to the floor. It was a little awkward, with her shirt still trapping her arms and her breeches half-way down her thighs, but Loghain placed steadying hands under her elbows as she dropped to her knees and leaned across the chest. She pressed her cheek against the rough wood and looked over her shoulder at the taciturn, delightfully  _bossy_  general.

He was staring at her exposed backside like a starving man before a feast. Sylvie watched him smugly. No matter how much he hated her and her Orlesian ways, she had known he wouldn't resist her forever, not after she had given him such a generous demonstration of her abilities. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded with lust as he slowly unlaced his breeches and freed his cock. She could see the head was already glistening with desire and it pulled another pained whimper from her throat. Her sex throbbed, and the sight of his rigid member sent little spasms of anticipation through her core.

Loghain stroked himself with one hand, while he leaned over and gripped her ass with the other. His warm, rough palm glided across her curves, squeezing as if he were testing her flesh, and then he brought his fingers to her soaking slit.

"Yesssss," she hissed as his long, rather elegant digits teased her mercilessly.

"Orlesian bitch," he whispered. "Panting like a dog in heat." He thrust his fingers inside of her, curling them expertly in a way that had her swallowing cries of pleasure.

"You love what I'm doing to you, even though I despise you," he growled. She didn't bother to deny it. When he finally lowered himself to his knees behind her and guided himself to her entrance, she choked out a moan of excitement.

He rubbed the blunt head of his cock up and down her slit, frustrating her into wiggling her ass and throwing an exasperated glare over her shoulder. That earned her a rare sight indeed – Loghain's grin, self-satisfied and sardonic. He gripped her hips to hold her in place and continued to tease her with his dick, promising penetration but not quite delivering. Sylvie dropped her forehead to the chest and whimpered in vexation. Her quim felt swollen and aching, like overripe fruit ready to burst, and she thought if he didn't take her soon, she might lose her mind.

When he entered her, it was in one swift, complete motion. One second, his cock was brushing lightly against her wet lips, and the next, it was pressed against her womb, his balls tapping against her clitoris. Sylvie yelped, and Loghain reached forward and clamped his hand across her mouth.

"Quiet, you little fool! Do you want to draw the guard?"

He moved within her, slowly and confidently, his thick cock filling and stretching her in a way that was so gratifying, she thought she might pass out. She closed her eyes, drooling and moaning against his palm as he pounded her with a controlled, patient rhythm. His other hand reached around her thigh to stroke the nub of pleasure at the apex of her sex, and she shuddered gratefully. Loghain definitely knew how to fuck. Sylvie pushed her hips back to meet him, delighting every time she felt the coarse hair on his belly brush against the sensitive skin on her ass. He steadily increased the speed of his thrusts until Sylvie could do little more but brace herself against the chest and let him ride her, his fingers still toying with her clit. She was glad for his hand over her mouth, for she couldn't have held back her cries for all the gold in Orlais.

It didn't take long for her to reach her climax; she bit down on his palm – not too hard, she hoped – and groaned in relief as her orgasm over took her. Her thighs were trembling like reeds and her cunny clenched spasmodically at his invading cock.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he murmured, surprising her.

Loghain let go of her mouth and moved both hands to her sides, holding her down as he sought his own release. He leaned across her body, his forehead pressed to her back as he pounded her wildly. When he finally came, his fingers tightened painfully on her hips, and she felt the hot rush of his breath on her back as he moaned into her skin. They remained that way – joined, panting, his body covering hers – for several seconds, until Loghain withdrew and stood up. He helped her to her feet and then – hilariously – politely turned his back while she rearranged her clothes. She would never understand him, not in an age.

"Thank you, Loghain, that was delightful," she purred, running her hand across his shoulders.

"Shut up," he snapped. "It never happened."

He turned around to inspect her, tightening the laces on her tunic, and advised her to fix her hair.

"Certainly. So will this be not happening again sometime? Perhaps in my quarters, tonight?"

Loghain glowered. "No. Definitely not. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness."

Sylvie smiled at him and sidled closer, twirling one of his braids around her finger. "Well, if you get caught up in another one of those wonderful moments, you'll know where to find me. I'll probably be touching myself and thinking of you. That's usually my last task of the day."

She winked and turned back to the chest, opening it up to inspect the boots again. Loghain muttered an oath and stalked off, banging the door behind him.


	3. Aggravation

Loghain stood outside the Warden-Commander's door, warring with himself.

He knew he was behaving like a cunt-struck adolescent, and it shamed him mightily. Like most people, he enjoyed sex, but he had never had any problem setting aside desire in favor of duty or sense. Nor was he one for casual affairs, certainly not with a woman he didn't even like; he had always endeavored to treat women with courtesy and respect. He had been a faithful and loving husband, and since his wife's death, he had been almost entirely celibate. To say his current behavior was out-of-character was an understatement. He blamed the taint in his blood – it had powerfully increased  _all_  of his appetites, it seemed, not just his hunger for food.

But the fact remained that he stood outside of his Commander's quarters, his cock already half-stiff with anticipation of the pleasures she would provide. Their dalliance violated everything he believed in – command structure, chivalry, patriotism, self-control – and yet he wanted her with a fierceness and an intensity that was beyond anything he had ever experienced. He had thought, when he sent Rowan to Maric, that he had proved to himself once and for all that he would never be overtaken by his own selfish desires. And yet now, despite all arguments of sense and reason, he could not deny himself the vulgar satisfaction of his Commander's flesh. It was humiliating, and it made him want to humiliate her, which only disturbed him further. He was actually a bit grateful that she seemed utterly shameless, for it allowed him to vent his guilt at her expense, without adding to that guilt by hurting her.

So, here he stood, outside her door, his hand on the knob. It had been several days since their encounter in the armory, but he couldn't get her words out of his mind: the last task of her day – touching herself and thinking of him. Whenever they met to discuss Keep business, he remembered. Not her mouth on his cock, not the way her tight, wet sex felt gripping his length, but her  _words,_  and the promise they implied.

_Come to me at night, and I will be wet and ready for you. I desire you. I want you._

Ridiculousness. He didn't need this Orlesian whore to prove to him that he was desirable. He didn't need to be desirable at all. But the thought of it – the thought that she might actually end her day with her fingers in her quim, taking herself with abandon and thinking of him, of all people – it flattered and enflamed. He opened the door.

The room was dark. He had never been in her quarters before, so he waited for his eyes to adjust as he quietly closed the door behind him. The arrangement of the room was the mirror image of his own, and the bed was to his right. She was laying on her side, the pretty curve of her hip illuminated in the moonlight from the window. Approaching stealthily, he crept up to the bed, not exactly sure what he intended to do next.

"Finally," she whispered, desire and relief clear in her voice. His cock instantly took notice. "Don't even think of getting in this bed clothed, Loghain. Get naked or get out."

 _Humph_. He actually hadn't planned on disrobing completely, but since he was the one who had sneaked into her bedroom, completely betraying his inability to control himself, he supposed he couldn't object to her stipulations. He undressed efficiently, and she moved over a little in the bed, making room for him to curl himself against her back. Which he did, pressing his hard cock snugly against her ass.

She reached behind and found his hand, drawing it over her side to cup her breast. For a moment, they lay quietly, breathing together, as he stroked her nipple with his thumb and inhaled the spicy scent of her skin. Then he gently bit her shoulder and thrust his hips against her.

"Mmmmm," she purred, rubbing her ass against his cock. "You're ready for me, but I want a bit of a warm up."

Loghain was disappointed. His entire fantasy hinged on the idea that she was constantly wet for him.

"Just like an Orlesian to offer false flattery," he snarled, pushing away from her and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused. In the dim moonlight, he could see her glossy hair spreading in waves across her pillow. He wanted to grab it and pull it.

"Nothing. This was a mistake. Good night."

He reached for his shirt, but she sat up quickly and straddled him, wrapping her arms around his waist. One hand swiftly grabbed his cock and squeezed it, pulling a moan from his lips.

"Why are you angry?"

He couldn't tell her why. He couldn't admit that he desperately needed her to be even more insensible with desire than he was, to justify his stupid, embarrassing inability to resist her invitations.

"When am I not angry?" he bit out. She laughed against his back, her breasts bouncing gently.

"But to come here and then leave? Is it so wrong that I would want to feel your mouth on me? Do you really think me such a whore, that you can't stand to pleasure me?"

Lurking below her light, teasing questions was a small vein of vulnerability. Loghain heard it, and knew he could either pierce it, or protect it. He also heard her say she wanted him, and wanted him in a specific way that he particularly enjoyed. He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder.

"I've never cared for Orlesian fare, but I suppose I could give it another try." He smirked to take the sting out, and caressed the hand that stroked his member. She laughed, pressing her lips against his spine.

"I think you should. You might find it more to your taste, these days."

He pushed himself off the bed and knelt before her, grabbing her hips and dragging her to the edge of the mattress. The Warden-Commander spread her legs shamelessly, offering him full access to her glistening sex. He could see – smell – that she was already wet for him, and his pride recovered.

"What a brazen hussy you are," he murmured, tracing a finger across her swollen lips. She hissed and threw her head back.

"Yesss," she whispered. "More."

He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against her thigh, the rough stubble scraping her smooth, silky skin. She hummed in pleasure and tilted her hips forward, begging him wordlessly to take her with his tongue. He moved closer, breathing against her damp sex and reveling in the resulting spasms of her hips.

"Loghain, please!" she whined, reaching down and tangling her fingers in his hair, dragging his face flush against her crotch. It was intoxicating; his dick jerked so hard when his chin collided with her cunny that he was almost afraid he'd already come.

She released his hair and he traced his tongue against her lips, teasing her sex with the tip of it, but not giving her what he knew she really wanted. She rolled her hips erotically, making him grunt with desire as her wet slit slid across his face. He realized he wouldn't be able to resist fucking her for much longer, so he'd better get down to business.

He buried his mouth in her quim, methodically working his tongue against her lips and clit. He suspected that if he started slow, she would build fast, so he took his time and before long, she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. He slid one finger, then two into her tight passage and stroked, clamping his mouth around her clitoris and flicking it firmly with his tongue. It didn't take long for her hips to bounce off the mattress, her cunny tightening rhythmically around his fingers as she let out a long, shuddering sob of pleasure. Loghain's cock twitched in sympathy, desperate to bury itself in her slick depths.

He crawled up her body, pushing her back on the bed, until he was able to lay between her spread thighs and look down on her as she recovered. Her head was tilted back and her pretty neck was exposed, her pulse pounding urgently in the delicate hollow beneath her throat. He couldn't help but press his tongue to it, and she hummed happily, shifting her hips.

"Come on, you monster. Fuck me like I know you want to."

Loghain needed no further invitation. He hitched one of her legs up and pressed his swollen cock against her entrance. Her sigh of anticipation was the only encouragement he needed to sink deep, burying himself in her hot, wet core. She felt amazing, strong and soft at the same time, and he pounded her relentlessly, unable to restrain himself. The Warden-Commander cried out, gasping moans of pleasure that stroked his ego as surely as her pulsing walls stroked his cock, and he fucked her even harder, his dick a relentless piston driving him towards release. He was stunned when he felt her shudder again – he hadn't realized she was already so close – and her orgasm seemed to pull his own from the depth of his balls. He collapsed against her, his cock twitching deep in her slick, hot center, and he sighed with a pleasure so genuine and simple that it embarrassed him.

The Warden-Commander shifted beneath his weight, moving her leg to a more comfortable position, and then wrapped her arms around him and kissed his temple. Loghain knew he was in a dangerous place. Sex was one thing, affection was another – but he needed to rest, to relax, to recover. He allowed her to hold him for a moment, listening to the sound of her racing heart, before he pushed up, withdrew, and got off the bed.

"Well," he said shortly. "I guess I got what I came for."

"Did you enjoy it?" Her rich, husky voice was amused, and her eyes glinted in the dim moonlight.

"You never fail to satisfy, on a very base level. Whore." He spit the last word out, half-hoping that this time it would hit a bulls-eye and cause her to end this foolish affair. But instead, he was rewarded with a throaty laugh.

"Neither do you, dog lord. Good night." She rolled over on her side, clearly dismissing him, and Loghain resentfully dressed and left the room.

He would never come back, he swore it.


	4. Indignation

Sylvie stood behind the desk in her office, trying not to tug at the high collar of her gown. The ceremony of fealty had gone off rather well, she supposed, if you didn't count the drunken, Orlesian-hating lout, and the death threats. The lout was nothing – Varel was entirely correct that he was only emboldened by wine to voice what many dared not (although they probably would have been comforted to know that their Hero of River Dane  _did_  dare, daily). The conspiracy against her was a little more concerning, but having weathered the Imperial Court, she rather thought she could probably handle some disgruntled backwater banns.

Loghain entered her office – locking the door behind him and sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine – and stood before her desk, frowning. "Well, what happened?"

"They all pledged their oaths," she replied, but before she could elaborate, he growled.

"To an  _Orlesian_. Worthless cowards."

"To the  _Grey Wardens,_ " Sylvie corrected, annoyed. "Loghain, I am your commanding officer. Are you really saying that you'd hoped the people of Amaranthine would have refused to honor me? What do you think would have happened then?"

Loghain bent his head and stared at the floor. "Weisshaupt shouldn't have sent an Orlesian," he said fiercely.

"I agree, it's entirely too soon. But they didn't have a decent Fereldan choice, what with Alistair off on a bender, Cousland dead, and your reputation in tatters. Perhaps if you hadn't moved against the Wardens and driven your precious country to the brink of civil war, they could be swearing fealty to  _you,_  and I could have received a civilized post."

"I did what was necessary to keep my people free. And if I hadn't, I wouldn't be a Grey Warden at all," he noted sardonically. "Perhaps what you really mean to say is that if I'd done the decent thing and taken the killing blow against the Archdemon myself, I'd be dead and Aedan would rule the arling. I can't say I disagree."

Sylvie blanched, her stomach twisting at the thought. "That's not at all what I meant. But surely you can see that Weisshaupt was in a quandary."

The general glowered and stalked closer to her. "What I see is that the Grey Wardens seized their first opportunity to install an Orlesian in one of the most important arlings in Ferelden."

"If your daughter hadn't gifted the arling to the Grey Wardens in the first place – and quite frankly, I wish she hadn't – they wouldn't even have had the opportunity. I suppose she thought that with only one active Warden in Ferelden, you would be the obvious choice for Commander. You, a man who had just Joined scant months ago?" Sylvie scoffed, and folded her arms across her chest. " _She_  did this, and  _you_  did this, and  _Weisshaupt_  did this, but  _I_  did not. I am simply fulfilling my duty as best I can. Accept that, Loghain. I am not your enemy, or Ferelden's."

Loghain looked furious, perhaps all the more so because he heard reason in her argument. "All Orlesians are my enemies, especially those grabbing back land and power that I liberated with the blood of good people."

Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Not everyone is as patriotic as you are, Loghain. I don't give a nug's nuts about the glory of Orlais, or using Amaranthine for its benefit. I just want to rebuild Vigil's Keep and find out what's going on with these strange darkspawn." She sighed. "Although now I have a conspiracy against my life to confront, which I'm sure should please you. I guess these dog lords haven't quite learned to roll over, after all."

Loghain exhaled heavily and stepped closer, his fingers curling and uncurling as he no doubt contemplated wringing her neck. Sylvie took a bit of perverse delight in his obvious battle for self-control. The air between them suddenly became charged as he invaded her space and gripped her waist, his other hand fondling her breast through the slick, thin material of her gown. The feel of his strong, warm body pressed so close to hers brought instant heat to her loins.

"You almost look like a proper lady," he hissed. His lips hovered against her ear and the tickle of his breath made her weak in the knees. "But if I lifted your skirts, I'd still find an Orlesian whore."

Sylvie laughed. "If you lifted my skirts, you'd find me wet and ready for you, as always, but I'm afraid duty calls…."

She stifled a happy squeal as he spun her around, pushed her against the desk, and shoved the hem of her gown over her hips. Their coupling was frantic and fast, his orgasm peaking on the heels of her own. She was amazed at how quickly he could arouse her, take her, complete her, and withdraw. Most women she knew didn't appreciate brief encounters, but since he always brought her to climax, she rather admired his efficiency.

"Now," he said, straightening her skirts. "Tell me about this conspiracy."

…

"This is ridiculous," Loghain grumbled. From the beginning, he had been entirely opposed to the idea of approaching the "Dark Wolf" for more information about the plot against Sylvie, believing it to be either a trap or a waste of time. She was amazed that he somehow managed to attach her inclination to seek out Ser Wolf to her heritage – apparently it was incredibly Orlesian of her to deal with shady characters.

"Just back me up," she snapped. They stalked through the dark streets of Amaranthine, which were crowded and pungent in the warm summer air. Sylvie was impressed that Loghain was capable of moving so quietly – he had exchanged his chevalier's plate for drakeskin, and he looked rather marvelous in the form-fitting leathers. Sylvie had had less luck scavenging proper gear from the armory. The only suitable leather she'd found was a studded tunic that ended mid-thigh, though at least her boots covered her to her knees. Despite her exasperation with her armor, she had reveled in the appreciative look Loghain had given her when she'd joined him in the Great Hall to set out for town.

The note from Ser Wolf, which had been thrust into her hand by a reluctant guard at the city gate, instructed her to meet him in an alley next to the inn.

"An alley near the inn?" Loghain asked, his words laced with wicked amusement. "Why does it not surprise me that an associate would expect to meet you  _there_?"

Sylvie ignored him, pushing through the throng of people at the gate with one hand on her dagger.

"Not even decent enough to work out of a tavern or a brothel. You really are the most shocking whore I've ever met." She could tell he was really enjoying himself, and she rolled her eyes.

"Be on your guard, this could be a trap."

"Precisely why we shouldn't even be here," he growled. "I suppose you just can't resist the chance to roll around in the gutter with scoundrels and cheats."

"What would you have me do instead?" she asked lightly, trying not to betray her irritation. His habit of constantly questioning her decisions was insufferable, especially since his objections often boiled down to "too Orlesian." Usually Sylvie disregarded his prickly complaints, but it was rather hard to tune him out when he was her only companion.

"Wait it out. These conspirators will show themselves eventually – there's no need for all of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense."

"Well, when the plot is against  _your_  life, that's what we'll do."

"Do you think I haven't survived plots, slut? I've lived through more attempts on my life than you've lived years."

"You might not live through the next one, if you don't shut up," she snapped, finally losing her patience. "There's the alley, come on."

The alley was dark and narrow – they had to walk in single file and turn sideways to edge around a pile of crates nearly blocking the way. Behind the boxes, a man was waiting in dark leathers with a hood pulled up over his head, hiding his face in shadow. Very mysterious.

"Have you any business for me, ser?" she asked quietly. The man's teeth flashed white and bright beneath his hood, and he chuckled lasciviously.

"I might. What's your trade?" His purring tone left no doubt as to what sort of business he hoped she would provide. Clearly this fellow was channeling Loghain.

Sylvie rolled her eyes and was prepared to snap at him, when she felt Loghain's hand grab her hip. It startled her into a momentary silence, but she recovered quickly.

"Are you the Dark Wolf?" she asked impatiently.

"Some call me by that name. I see you got my letter, Commander."

"Yes. What can you do for me?"

The man laughed lewdly. "Oh, a great many things, if you have the time. I admit I didn't expect the Warden-Commander to be such a comely lass. I rather assumed you would look more like the dour fellow behind you. Don't worry, Warden," he said to Loghain. "I don't mind sharing."

"I do," Loghain growled, and his hand tightened on her hip. Sylvie was startled by his possessiveness, and she leaned into him slightly, hoping he would stay in check.

"This is absurd, Ser Wolf. I came here for information. Provide it, or I'll be on my way."

"There is murmuring in the city – murmuring that nobles want you dead. Rendon Howe made some people quite rich, and your presence here is… inconvenient. For the right price, I could get you names."

"Name your price then," she replied.

"Fifty sovereigns," he said firmly.

"Impossible." The Keep's coffers were depressingly low at the moment, as Sylvie had invested nearly all of their gold into rebuilding the fortress after the darkspawn attack. She could hardly afford half that amount.

"Well," the Dark Wolf took a step towards her, and again his grin flashed beneath his hood. "Perhaps we could barter? I'd credit you ten, if you'd put that pretty mouth to work."

She felt, rather than heard Loghain's low growl, but she was already laughing. "You insult me twice,  _cur._ Be on your way."

The odious man shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I'll be around." He slinked out of the alley, and Sylvie released her grip on her dagger.

"Fifty sovereigns! Where am I going to get that kind of coin?"

"Would you like me to go drum up some customers for you in the inn? They could form a queue in the alley. At ten a pop, you'd only need five. Four, if you'd taken his offer."

Loghain sounded angry, which puzzled Sylvie to no end. She spun around and poked him in the chest.

"I didn't  _offer_  to suck him off, Loghain. I know you love to think me a shameless whore, but that was entirely his suggestion."

The general pushed her back against the wall, not violently but not gently, either. He braced one arm next to her head, and caressed her thigh with the other.

"You don't have to offer, my sweet little Orlesian slut. Your very existence is an offer. What else are you good for?" He leaned in and trailed his tongue up her neck, as his hand slipped between her legs.

Sylvie drew in a sharp breath, struck by his contempt. He loved to berate her, and she'd told herself again and again that since his opinion meant nothing to her, his gibes were of no consequence – but if she were honest, his words were starting to sting.

"Nothing else, I suppose," she said lightly, pretending his stab hadn't drawn blood. "I'm surprised you didn't negotiate the deal, since you're so intimately familiar with the goods. And then you would have had the pleasure of watching me ply my trade."

"I prefer to sample the goods myself," Loghain replied roughly. He slid his fingers past her smalls and stroked her sex, and she whimpered, already wet for him. "If I want to watch you whore yourself, I'll fuck you in front of a mirror."

Sylvie rolled her hips, encouraging him to plunge his fingers inside of her. "How Orlesian of you!"

He growled and pushed her back against the wall, forcing his knees between her legs. "You're rubbing off on me."

She laughed, stroking his cock through his leathers, and began unlacing them. "Every chance I get, Loghain. You know I can't get enough of you."

"Shameless hussy," he purred, but his lips curled in a half-smile that tripped her breath. Sometimes she  _longed_  to kiss him, but she didn't think she could bear it if she tried, and he turned away. Men like Loghain didn't kiss "whores."

Her armor didn't allow easy access to her breasts, but Loghain licked the top of them anyway as he readied her with his fingers. Not that she needed much readying – her sex had slickened the second he pushed her against the wall. She pulled his member free of his breeches, squeezing him in her palm and tearing a harsh moan from his lips. He reached down and grabbed his shaft, rubbing his cockhead against her crotch. Even through the thin fabric of her undergarments, the sensation of his hardness pushing against her caused her cunny to clench in anticipation. Loghain hitched her legs up and braced her against the wall, and Sylvie whimpered in her throat as he tugged her smallclothes aside and thrust his cock into her slippery passage. He was  _so_  thick and stiff, and she shuddered with delight.

"Yes, moan for me, wench," he panted in her ear. "Let me hear how much you want me."

Everything about Loghain was hard – his voice, his arms, his thighs, his cock – and it turned her on terribly. She pressed her face against his neck and muffled her cries of pleasure, her hands desperately clutching at his shoulders.

"Loghain," she gasped. She was trapped between the wall and the imposing fortress of his body, and he adjusted his grip on her hips and started pumping faster. "Loghain!"

"You're so willing, so wet," he murmured, bending his head to suck on her throat. "Always so ready for me, my sweet little whore."

"I know I am," she moaned in his ear, catching the lobe in her teeth. He hissed and fucked her faster, rougher, and she felt like she was racing over a cliff.

She knew he was close when he grabbed one of her hands and shoved it down between their bodies. Gritting her teeth, she rubbed herself as he braced her in his arms and drilled her savagely. Sylvie hitched her leg higher, forcing him to take her at a different angle, and his cock struck her in just the right spot, wrenching desperate gasps from her lips.

"Come for me, my eager Orlesian bitch," he snarled, his dick sliding relentlessly within her. Sylvie buried her face against his shoulder, choking back moans as her climax crested and crashed. As usual, her orgasm seemed to tip him over the edge.

"Maker, you feel so  _good_ ," he sighed raggedly, pressing her tight between the wall and his chest, trembling as he spent himself within her. Sylvie hummed happily, brushing his sweaty hair back from his temple, and placed a kiss on his brow.

"That's why you can't resist me," she said playfully.

Loghain stepped back so abruptly that Sylvie almost lost her balance. He frowned and tucked himself back into his trousers. "Of course I can resist you.  _You_  approached  _me_."

"Not today, I didn't," she replied smugly. "Nor do I order you to my quarters every night."

Loghain sneered. "I don't doubt you would, if it suited you. Your idea of leadership is scandalous." He laced his trousers and smirked. "You know, if Weisshaupt really wanted to inspire the men, they should have installed you in the bed chamber, not the Commander's office. Our recruitment woes would be over."

Sylvie felt like he had slapped her. "You think I'm unfit for command?"

Loghain looked startled. "I didn't say that."

But after a month of insults and gibes, Sylvie's emotions overwhelmed her.

"It certainly sounded like you did to me," she hissed fiercely. "It sounded exactly like you said I'd make a better whore than Commander. That I should be recruiting with my cunt, not my commendations."

He furrowed his brow. "I didn't – that's not what – but you can't be surprised that your behavior would invite some remonstrance. Surely this isn't a typical relationship with a second-in-command."

Sylvie felt a hot rush of shame shoot through her gut. Loghain Mac Tir, perhaps the greatest general of his  _or_  her generation, found her incompetent. "You're right, Warden," she said coldly. "My impulses overwhelmed me and I've made some very poor decisions. Consider your invitation to my bedroom withdrawn."

She stalked out of the alley, not waiting for him to catch up, although he did so in several strides of his long legs.

"Commander!" He caught her arm but she jerked it away.

"Shut up!" she said, her voice low and rough. "That's an order."

He obeyed, following close on her heels to the stable, and he maintained his silence for the entire ride back to Vigil's Keep. Sylvie already regretted her hasty words – now that she had calmed down, she half-suspected Loghain had just been running at the mouth, as usual, and hadn't meant her to take him any more seriously than she ever did. But there was a vein of truth in his insult, and she needed to think about it. Loghain was the most intriguing man she'd ever met, but the Wardens were more important to her than anything else in the world. She couldn't compromise her service to them, not for any reason, but especially not for one as base and tawdry as sexual pleasure. Although "pleasure" described what Loghain did for her like "warm" described the forges of Orzammar. Still. She needed to think with her head, not her quim.

When she retired for the night, Sylvie locked her door, although she knew it wasn't necessary. Loghain wouldn't be back until she invited him again.

 


	5. Equivocation

"Warden Loghain, there is a retinue from Denerim here for you, ser, with a message from the queen."

Varel appeared in the doorway of the Warden-Commander's office, with several men standing at attention behind him. Loghain looked up from the desk, surprised. What message could Anora have sent that required more than one man to carry it? At Loghain's nod, Varel stepped aside to allow six men bearing the royal heraldry to enter. One was carrying a small chest, and the other carried a roll of parchment. Loghain held his hand out for the letter, and the knight quickly crossed the room to give it to him.

_Dear Father,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to inform you that I have come to a decision – in fact, an agreement – regarding the teyrnir of Gwaren. Although I still wish you would have agreed to retain your title, I know there is no more I could have said on that matter to change your mind. As such, I have decided to name Teagan Guerrin the new teyrn of Gwaren._

Loghain set down the letter and stifled a groan, mindful of his audience. Teagan! Why not just name Eamon teyrn and hand Gwaren over to Orlais? What was she thinking? He sighed, his fingers itching to pick up a quill and write her a strongly worded note.

_Now, Father, before you arrive at my doorstep like a thundercloud, ready to shake me by the shoulders, understand that I have given this much thought. I know Eamon is treacherous, but Teagan is nothing like him. He is loyal, intelligent, kind, and patriotic. He has been of immense help to me since you left for Amaranthine, and he does not agree with his brother's willingness to strengthen ties to Orlais. Believe me when I say he is his own man, and a true Guerrin, not the snout-licking jackal Eamon has become._

Loghain's eyes narrowed as he stared, unseeing, at the wall. She might not admit it – she might not even know it – but he suspected that she had developed feelings for the man. If Teagan was using Anora's sensibilities to manipulate her politically, Loghain would kill him. His daughter had been through enough.

 _I know it will be difficult for you to take my word that Teagan is trustworthy, but you will have to do so. I'm sure you can see the political advantage for me – I've managed to both undo some of your wrongs against the Guerrin family (thank you so much for that, by the way!) and I've also secured a powerful ally against_  _Eamon. Teagan is well-respected among the bannorn and if he opposes his brother's plans, it will erode Redcliffe's support, especially if he commands Gwaren. Teagan's elevation is also supported by Fergus Cousland, the new teyrn of Highever (and you can expect a visit from him soon, since Amaranthine remains under Highever's banner). Since Aedan supported my bid for the throne, and Howe's lands were distributed to the Wardens in his honor, Teyrn Fergus has agreed to set aside his understandable anger regarding your involvement with Howe (thanks for that, as well!) and cooperate with me._

Loghain frowned. It seemed her total abandonment of filial deference at the Landsmeet had not quite run its course. He knew all too well that he had put Anora in a difficult position with his desperate attempts to protect Ferelden from Orlais, but he did not relish being chided by his own daughter. More importantly, he was worried that if Teagan and Fergus were playing her, she had just put herself – and her country – in a very vulnerable position. On the other hand, Anora had a canny knack for reading people, and was usually ten steps ahead of even the most sophisticated politician in her maneuvers. He trusted her, but he wished he could go to Denerim and get a measure of her relationship with Teagan for himself.

The rest of the letter described her plans for securing items of sentimental value from the estate in Gwaren and having them brought to the royal palace. She assured him that Teagan was quite content to let her remove anything she wanted from the house, and asked Loghain if there was anything she could take for him. As she had already pledged to reclaim the few belongings of her mother's that remained, Loghain could think of nothing else. His life as teyrn of Gwaren felt so long ago.

Finally, she informed him that her agreement with Teagan regarding the dispensation of the property had yielded a small amount of funds, which she wished to pass along to him. Loghain now understood the reason for the entourage. He bid the knight to set down the lockbox on the desk and dismissed the men. He would need a night to consider Anora's actions before he replied to her letter.

He also needed to consider what to do with the money. He ought to donate it to the Keep's coffers, and he resolved to do just that with  _some_  of the funds, but he wasn't inclined to give every last coin to the Grey Wardens. An idea occurred to him – a way he could help the Wardens and more importantly, help Sylvie – and plan formed in his mind.

A week ago, Sylvie had left on an expedition to the Blackmarsh to search for the missing Orlesian Warden, taking Anders and the Howe whelp with her, while Loghain and the dwarf had remained behind to manage the Keep. Well, Loghain was managing the Keep; Oghren was mostly occupied with drinking ale and harassing the servants. Varel was at his wit's end and had informed Loghain that very morning that if one more girl quit due to the drunken dwarf's advances, Oghren would have to manage his own laundry. Unfortunately, that didn't seem like it would be much of a deterrent to the dwarf, as Loghain seriously doubted he cared one whit about the cleanliness of his smallclothes. Perhaps an excursion to Amaranthine would do him – and the servants – some good.

Sylvie was still angry with Loghain – or not angry, precisely, but unwilling to speak with him about any personal matters and certainly not willing to let him back into her bed. She had always been more apt to err on the side of affection than he had been – which was why, he supposed, it surprised him so much to find her so unforgiving now. Though he refused to beg for entrance to her quarters, in his own way, he had made it clear that he was inclined to make amends. Yet she had ignored his subtle overtures and kept him at arm's length, friendly enough but impersonal. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care about their sudden estrangement, and that it was a relief that their inappropriate relationship had ended. He should be grateful to her for doing what he had been too weak and wanton to do. Had he not hoped, every time he snarled a nasty insult in her ear, that the arrow would find its mark at last? Perhaps not. Loghain was taken aback by how much it bothered him; he missed the sex – quite a bit – and he felt vaguely resentful and ashamed that he had offended her so deeply that she ended their affair without discussion. Short of inviting the Orlesian army into Ferelden, Loghain believed he would have been willing to hear an explanation for almost any transgression, had the situation been reversed. Sylvie seemed to have moved on, however, and so he vowed to forget the pleasures of her bed.

Even so, he found himself filling his time while she was away with tasks that he knew would specifically please her. He'd catalogued and organized the armory, for she hated to have the Wardens' gear in disarray. He'd managed all of her correspondence and wrote reports for her to send to Montsimmard and Weisshaupt, for she had no patience for paperwork. He'd calibrated the ballistae, and cleared spiders out of the basements, and convinced that mewling genius, Wade, to create a more serviceable set of leathers for her than the laughable tunic the Wardens had issued. These things all needed doing anyway, to be sure, but Loghain knew he had done them specifically to make her happy, and he knew she would know. Especially replacing her tunic.

But thinking of the tunic made him think of how easy it was to pass his hand underneath it and slide his fingers against her quim…to tug aside her small clothes and plunge his cock into her slick depths…to fuck her roughly against a wall while she whimpered against his neck… damn it! Now he was hard and unhappy again, remembering how good she'd felt that day, and also how suddenly she had taken offense to his words and rebuffed him. Maker's breath! Why did he care that she had rejected him? She was a brazen hussy and he would have died of shame if anyone in Denerim had realized he had been fucking an  _Orlesian_  Grey Warden half his age. He could hardly think of anything more embarrassing, or less consistent with his character.

And yet… and yet… all the stupid  _and-yets_ : her talented tongue, and her tight, hot cunt, and the noises she made when he hit the right spot, and the way she was always wet when he touched her, and even the way she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his temple as he shuddered through his release. Even that. He liked those things and he missed them. He missed her smoky, throaty laughter when he snarled a particularly clever gibe, and the way her eyes had always welcomed him with heat and hunger when he entered her rooms.

 _Enough!_  he admonished himself. He was a weak-willed, stupid, cunt-struck fool and he needed to put her from his mind. But first, he would do her a favor.

…

Loghain stood outside Amaranthine's brothel and sighed with distaste. The innkeep at The Crown and Lion had recommended The Greasy Wheel as a more likely haunt of the so-called Dark Wolf than his own rather more reputable establishment. Loghain would prefer not to be caught dead in such a seedy place, but he wanted to find that informant. Oghren, on the other hand, had maintained a steady chuckle of anticipation since he'd realized they were going visit the brothel, and the constant  _hehehe_  was working Loghain's last nerve.

"Try to behave yourself," Loghain muttered as he pushed open the door. The parlor was dark, with yellow light filtering through the filthy windows, and the bartender swiped at the bar with a rag that looked like it would leave more grime than it would remove. On a dingy couch, a city guardsman copulated with a bored-looking elven girl, while next to him – on the  _same couch_  – another man received fellatio from a redhead. Loghain was no prude – and he knew how men could be – but this room was just so sad and desperate and dirty that he couldn't imagine anyone feeling aroused by anything in it.

"So, uh, Loghain," Oghren piped up from behind him. "How long you think your business is gonna take? You reckon I have time to stabble my naggle?  _Hehehe."_  The dwarf leered at a generously proportioned whore whose top barely covered her nipples.

"Maker, you can't be serious!" Loghain rolled his eyes. A shifty-looking dwarf approached them, and Loghain gathered that he was the proprietor of the business.

"Gentlemen, what can we do for you today? A drink? How about a knobjob?"

" _Hehehe!_ "

"I'm looking for someone," Loghain said quickly. "He goes by the name Dark Wolf. Do you know him?"

The dwarf looked at him appraisingly. "I might. Who's asking?"

"The Grey Wardens. We've had business with him before, and I'd like to conclude it."

"That sounds like a threat, Warden," the odious man said, backing away. "I don't want no trouble in my joint."

"It's not a threat," Loghain bit out impatiently. "I have no quarrel with him, and if you assist me, I'll make it worth your while."

"Hmm. In that case, the name's Bartholomew," the pimp replied, holding out his hand. "Come, have a drink, and let's discuss what we can do for each other."

Loghain said down at the scummy bar and reluctantly sipped whiskey while he haggled with the dwarf. Bartholomew claimed not to know where the Dark Wolf was at the moment, but swore he could find out and have the information to Loghain within two hours. In the meantime, he invited the Wardens to wait and partake in the "pleasures" of his establishment. From the noises behind him, it sounded as though Oghren was already doing just that. Loghain wasn't sure which would be worse – to stay at the bar, staring resolutely at his grimy glass of whiskey, and endure the bronto-like grunts of Oghren's love song, or to get up and walk out, searing his eyeballs on the sight of the fornicating dwarf in the process.

"Do you have any private rooms?" he asked Bartholomew suddenly.

"Of course," the pimp leered. "And a fine selection of lasses just waiting to tickle your pickle."

"Just the room, please," Loghain said through gritted teeth. "I will wait there until your man returns with the information I seek."

"Suit yourself," Bartholomew shrugged, and led him up a dark, narrow staircase. The small room contained a bed, a nightstand, and little else, and it was every bit as depressing as the rest of the place.

 _But at least it's unoccupied_ , Loghain thought gratefully, as Oghren bellowed like a stag in rut in the parlor below. He dropped a few coins in Bartholomew's waiting hand and then shut the door, locking it with a disgusted huff.

Now what? Loghain eyed the bed dubiously. He doubted the sheets were any cleaner than the barkeep's rag, but there was nowhere else to sit. Well, he'd spent the last few months up to his neck in darkspawn gore, so a few fleas wouldn't kill him. With a sigh, he sat down upon the sagging mattress and looked about the room. It was obviously too much to hope that he would find a book to read, but perhaps a smutty pamphlet? A flyer advertising the daily specials? Anything to distract him from the cacophony of coitus happening around him. In the room next door, the bed thumped against the wall as a whore mewled with ecstasy so patently manufactured, Loghain wondered how her john could stand it. He would much prefer to pump away in grim silence than to listen to that racket.

Now Sylvie, on the other hand, made delightful noises during sex. Her voice was so rich and husky, and it stoked his lust whenever she purred in his ear, despite that awful Orlesian accent. Even better than her words were her sounds, helpless whimpers and low moans and sweet, shuddering sighs. His prick stiffened at the thought of it, to his annoyance. Downstairs, Oghren was still roaring and carrying on, and while Loghain didn't consider his excruciating clamor to be arousing in the slightest, he could deeply sympathize with the man's relieved groans as he emptied himself in whichever tragic creature he had paid to …snaggle his waggle or whatever.

What if Sylvie were here, and he were still in her good graces? Would she consent to play the whore in this ratty brothel? He imagined her coming in the door with a wicked gleam in her eye, reciting her menu of services and prices in a torn dress. He imagined selecting a few, and then twisting his fingers in her hair and pulling her over to the bed. His cock strained against his pants and he loosened the laces, appalled at himself. Absolutely nothing could possibly be more pathetic than taking himself in hand in this rancid cathouse, wistfully dreaming of the Orlesian slut who had rejected him, but… he had two hours to kill and nothing else to do.

If Sylvie were here, she'd make him take off his shirt, no matter how dirty the sheets were. She'd made a very firm rule about it, which she'd allowed him to violate only when undressing was absolutely impractical. She liked the hair on his chest and his belly, and she would walk her fingers down the dark trail until they disappeared into his pants and…Maker. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders and reclined on the bed, tracing his fingertips gently along the waistband of his breeches.

If she were here, and he'd been able to talk her into acting the whore – actually acting the whore, not just fucking him with abandon while he called her names – he thought he'd tell her to suck him off. She was terribly good at it, and there was something so dreadfully tawdry about the idea of "paying" for it. His hand dipped lower into his pants as he imagined her unlacing them with a grin and pulling his dick out with a deft twist of her wrist. He squeezed himself gently as the Sylvie in his mind dragged her teeth up his shaft, scraping roughly but not too roughly, before enclosing her lips around him and undulating her tongue.

Maker's breath, her tongue! She could do things with it that he never knew were possible. Loghain freed his cock from his pants completely and began to stroke it as he remembered the many times she had enthusiastically taken him with her mouth. He could practically see her, kneeling between his legs as she worked his member with her lips and her tongue and her hands. Looking up at him with devilish glee as she reduced him to a straining, sweating animal, caught in her trap. Bringing him close to the edge and holding him there, with a knowing smile that told him he would come when she wanted him to, and not one second sooner.

He spat in his palm and then gripped his dick, watching in detached fascination as the swollen purple head disappeared and reappeared in his fist. Loghain had never been much for masturbation – it never satisfied him like a woman did, and it seemed weak to pursue such cheap pleasure rather than to just forego it all together. He certainly felt weak now, helplessly tugging on his own rod while he imagined a woman who didn't even want him. But Maker, he still wanted her and the mere thought of her was enough to light his blood on fire. His dick was as hard as steel as he pumped it vigorously, closing his eyes and imagining her lips sliding down his shaft until her nose was nestled in the hair on his belly. She swallowed cock like a champion, never seeming to gag or get overwhelmed, and it turned him on beyond measure to feel himself entirely encased in her mouth.

She also knew how to use her hands, stroking him with an efficient, twisting motion that sent him over the moon. He tried to imitate it with his own hand, but it didn't feel the same. Perhaps because there were no soft, wet lips enthusiastically slurping his head at the same time.

"Sylvie…," he murmured, jerking himself faster as he imagined her head bobbing on his dick with zeal. His heartbeat drummed in his ears as his orgasm began to build.

"Sylvie," he moaned again, imagining her nipples brushing against his thighs as she leaned over him, licking his cock from base to tip. The people next door must have started round two, for the thumping of the bed started up again.

"Sylvie!"

"Loghain?" Wait, that actually sounded like her. He lay on the bed, panting, cock in hand, and then jumped when someone forcefully pounded on the door. "Loghain!"

A dim, horrified realization crept over him that the sound he had heard was not his neighbor's bed knocking against the wall, but his commander knocking on the door. The very commander he had been fantasizing about, whose name he had just moaned.

"Are you alone?" she asked, her voice muffled by the door.

"Yes, of course!" he said hastily. He jumped off the bed and stuffed his dick back in his pants, although his erection seemed to have no intention of softening. Cursing softly, he laced his breeches and pulled his shirt back on. This was almost guaranteed to be embarrassing. He hoped she wouldn't notice his arousal as he unlocked the door.

Sylvie stood in the hallway, one hand on a cocked hip, and looked terribly suspicious of him.

"If you have a girl in there, you don't have to hide her. I don't care what you do."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Loghain was not at all sure he believed her. He liked the idea of her being jealous, but in this case, there was certainly no cause.

"I assure you, there's no one else," he said, stepping back to let her inside. She looked around the room disdainfully, lifting her eyebrow.

"Why are you here?"

"Why are  _you_  here?" Loghain asked. "Do you normally visit brothels when you go out on Warden business?"

"Do you?" Sylvie countered "I came because the innkeeper at the Crown and Lion mentioned he sent you here, and I was… curious."

"Ah. Did he tell you why?" He had wanted his contact with the Dark Wolf to be a surprise, but it seemed it was too late for that. Sylvie shrugged.

"It sounded like you had Oghren with you, and there aren't too many reasons for a man to go to a brothel so… I just figured…."

Loghain eyed her curiously. "You figured you'd come upstairs and pound on the door while I rutted with a wench?"

"Were you? The owner said you were alone – that's why I came up. I couldn't imagine what you were doing up here by yourself." Her cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced down at the bulge in his breeches.

"I just wanted to escape Oghren and the other 'gentlemen' downstairs. The owner is helping me get in touch with the Dark Wolf. I'm going get that information for you," he admitted.

Sylvie's eyes brightened, but then her brows drew together and she frowned. "With what coin?"

"It's a long story," he sighed. "I'll explain back at the Keep."

Sylvie huffed. "According to you, Loghain, it was horribly  _Orlesian_  and shockingly trampy of me to deal with the Dark Wolf in an alley – and yet here you are, waiting for the very same man in a whorehouse. How is that better?"

Loghain glowered. "I'm trying to do something nice for you, at considerable expense to my dignity. Can you not just thank me?"

"I heard you," Sylvie hissed. She took a step forward and he took a step back.

"Heard me?" Loghain asked, although he had a sinking feeling he knew what she meant.

"I heard you  _moaning,_  and then you answer the door with a wrinkled shirt and one hell of a hard on. Did you make the girl hide under the bed? Is she cowering in the closet? I assure you there's no need, Loghain. Your personal affairs are none of my business."

Loghain grimaced. "Commander, there is no one else here. Have a look for yourself if you think me a liar. Your ears must have played a trick on you – this place is certainly not lacking in moans and other noises."

Sylvie actually did check under the bed, and then she turned back around and pressed him against the wall, her hand sliding against his half-hard cock through his pants.

"I know what I heard. Do you think I wouldn't recognize your voice?"

"You imagined it!" Loghain protested, as her touch restored his erection instantly.

"Now I do think you're lying," she purred. "Were you touching yourself? Why not just get a girl to do the job? I know how fond you are of  _whores._ " Her eyes were hard as she said it, her fingers kneading his length.

"I've never used a whore in my life," he grunted, "and I never will."

"What about me?" Her tone was cool and clipped, but there was a little bit of hurt lurking in her voice.

"Obviously, you're not actually a whore," he sighed. "But if you'd prefer I not call you that, even in jest, I won't."

"I don't care what you call me," she said savagely. "Do you think I care what you think of me?"

Loghain frowned, feeling a little irritated. "I don't know. I've obviously offended you, and I wish we could talk about it. Not in this awful place, but at some point."

"Is that why you contacted the Dark Wolf? Is this your apology?" She kept her hand on the ridge in his pants, but she was no longer stroking it. She looked up at him and her eyes were dark and stormy.

"I can't apologize for something I don't understand," he said gruffly. "But yes, I hoped that if I got this information for you, that you would realize I… that you might see me differently."

Sylvie laughed ruefully and shook her head. "The problem is not how I see you. The problem is how you see me. But I admit I am charmed by your gesture." She sighed and stepped back from him.

"I was thinking of you," he said suddenly, grabbing her hand and placing it back on his cock. "That's what you heard. I was… taking myself. And saying your name."

Her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink. "My… name? I didn't even think you knew my name."

"Sylvie," he said roughly, exasperated. "Of course, I know your damned name."

"You've never said it," she said. She stepped closer to him and she was trembling a little, to Loghain's surprise.

"I did today. I was so close, and then you appeared at the door. If you still wanted me, I'd have thought it was providence."

Her fingers squeezed his cock. "Say it now."

"Sylvie." She looked at him for a long moment, and then began to unlace his breeches. He lowered his head and whispered against her lips. "Sylvie, please."

His breath hitched in his throat as she twisted his cock free, exactly as he'd imagined. He was so hard, so desperate for her touch again. She tugged on his shirt impatiently, so he pulled it off and dropped it on the floor.

"Sylvie." Loghain stared into her eyes as she stroked him, tangling his fingers in her hair. Her lips were parted and glistening, and he wanted to kiss her but he was afraid it would somehow be wrong, taking a liberty he didn't deserve. Instead, he nuzzled her neck and licked her throat, his breath coming in short gasps as her deft hand drew him back to the edge. Her other hand slid up his chest, her fingers tickling lightly until they reached his nipple and pinched it hard.

"You know you don't have to do this," he said, although it was a little late for that, and her ironic smirk said as much.

"Say my name when you come," she demanded, pulling him harder and faster.

"It won't be long now."

"Say it."

"Sylvie!" His balls tightened and his dick jerked as she stroked him into his climax, his seed spilling on the floor as he gasped and shuddered against her. "Maker, Sylvie!"

She watched his face seriously as she finished milking his cock. Then she unceremoniously picked up his shirt, wiped her hands on it, and handed it to him.

"We'll talk at Vigil's Keep," she said over her shoulder, as she walked out the door.

Artwork courtesy of KuraNova: [Deviant Art](http://kuranova.deviantart.com/) and [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, KuraNova, for letting me use your smoking hot Loghain pic! Readers, if you like what you see, go let her know! Be sure to check our her AO3 profile, too. She has some great fics up.


	6. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains a discussion (but not a depiction) of past sexual assault.

There was so much to do in the wake of the excursion to the Blackmarsh that it was nearly midnight before Sylvie collapsed in her office chair and poured herself a generous glass of shitty Fereldan whiskey. It tasted like dog piss and fire, but it would serve its purpose.

Sylvie wasn't really sure  _what_  she intended to say to Loghain when he inevitably approached her to discuss their… relationship seemed like the wrong word, but there it was. The responsible part of her thought she should apologize for intruding at the brothel, reaffirm her commitment to professionalism, and remind him of her position as his commanding officer. The irresponsible part of her want to tear his clothes off at the first opportunity and fuck him until they both passed out.

She should be responsible.

But Maker, he was so delicious, and the way he'd said her name…

She did feel rather smug about their encounter at the whorehouse. She knew she ought not to have done it, but it was hard to regret his cock in her hand and his breath in her ear and her name on his lips. She wished she could hear it again,  _Sylvie… Sylvie…_

 _No,_  she told herself.  _Non_. Absolutely not. Loghain Mac Tir was never going to respect an Orlesian whore, no matter her rank, so Sylvie would have to remind him of her rank and make him forget the whore. Perhaps if he were a different man…

But if he were, she wouldn't want him so much.

Speaking of the man, he knocked gently on the door and then entered her office, looking as tired as she felt.

"Commander," he said by way of greeting. "I have several items I need to discuss with you. Is now a good time?"

Sylvie sighed. "Not tonight, Warden, I'm exhausted. Business can wait until the morning. But close the door and we'll talk for a minute." Loghain did as she asked, and when he put his hand on the lock and then looked at her questioningly, she shook her head. "That's not necessary, Loghain."

His expression was impassive as he crossed the room and stood in front of her desk with his hands behind his back.

Sylvie looked at him a moment, admiring his severe features and striking blue eyes, before taking a deep breath and a sip of whiskey. "Warden Loghain, I apologize for what happened between us earlier. The Grey Wardens entrust their men with a certain amount of discretion and independence, and you shouldn't have to worry that your commanding officer is going to track you down and intrude upon private moments. It won't happen again."

Loghain could stand very still when he wanted to, and he was doing so now. His eyes narrowed a little, and the faintest hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth, but otherwise his expression didn't change. He regarded her silently for a moment, and then said, "For my part, your apology is unnecessary, but if you feel you must keep up appearances even when we're alone, by all means. Apology accepted."

Frustration bubbled in Sylvie's chest and she frowned. "Warden, I do not just  _appear_  to be your superior officer, I  _am_  your superior officer, even when we're alone." He frowned at that, but she continued. "You've made it very clear that our personal relationship has colored your opinion of my command, and I can't blame you. Every step along the way has been an error in judgment on my part, beginning with the very first time I approached you. Had a male commander forced himself on a female subordinate in such a fashion, it would have been clear grounds for censure, possibly demotion. I didn't intend to abuse my position, but it's apparent that you and I cannot separate the personal and the professional, and the professional must come first. Do you understand?"

Loghain looked irritated. "Not particularly. I don't recall ever questioning your command."

Sylvie stared at him evenly. "Is that so? Because I heard you say quite clearly that I'd be more effective servicing the men, than leading them." She took another sip of whiskey and looked away from him, still feeling a little stung by his words.

"Commander, I've said a great many things to you that I didn't mean. It's nonsense to select one insult out of a thousand careless gibes and find truth in it." His dark brows drew together and he leaned forward a little as he watched her intently.

"Perhaps it is, but when I questioned you further, you said that my behavior towards you invited remonstrance. The Warden ranks tend to be more relaxed than the military hierarchy you're used to, but I wouldn't expect you to know that. My actions must have seemed shockingly inappropriate, and I understand your discomfort. It won't happen again. That will be all."

The seconds stretched out as Loghain stared at her, and then a wolfish grin crossed his face. "Challenge accepted, Commander."

Sylvie was startled. "What are you talking about? I didn't challenge you, I apologized."

His eyes were full of heat as he pinned her in place with that predatory smile, and Sylvie's pulse began to race. "In fact, you did.  _You_  claim we're incapable of maintaining an appropriate professional relationship, while also enjoying a very  _inappropriate_  personal one." The way he purred the words made her tremble. "I disagree, and I intend to change your mind."

Sylvie raised her eyebrows. She really wanted nothing more than to enjoy him again, but she could hardly cave to such a blatant dare. "My mind can't be changed, Loghain."

"I don't believe you," he said simply. Then he tipped his head and dropped his feral grin. "I do apologize for my thoughtless comments. I may not agree with all of your decisions, but nothing we've done together physically has given me cause to question your command. It was a joke, and a poor one at that. You should put it from your mind."

"Oh, in  _that_ case," Sylvie said, rolling her eyes at his authoritative tone. She unsure if she hoped he would drop his silly challenge, or reissue it. "Let's just forget it and move on, hmm?"

"I can't forget, Sylvie," he said roughly, and her eyes snapped to his. Her cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze. He'd shifted subtly into an aggressive posture with his shoulders rolled forward and his feet planted apart. He looked every bit the powerful warrior ready to do battle, and Sylvie knew she was in trouble. She barely had the willpower to talk  _herself_  out of fucking Loghain, much less to resist him if he tried to talk her  _into_  it.

"You can, and you will," she replied evenly.

"I won't," he growled. "And if you  _have_  forgotten, I'll remind you." With that he straightened up and nodded curtly. "Good night, Commander."

Sylvie finished her whiskey in one swallow and groaned. As if she could forget their time together. She hoped Loghain was sincere when he said he didn't think less of her as a commander, but it he'd also made it clear that his primary objective was to get back into her bed, so his apology was a little suspect. Even if he did leave her ability as an officer out of it, he still had the power to hurt her with his degrading words. It confounded Sylvie that they had begun to bother her – the sound of his purring voice was what she loved, and whether he snarled insults or supply lists or the Chant of Light shouldn't matter. It did though, which meant she cared what he thought of her, which meant falling back into bed with him would be idiotic. She could tell him to stop insulting her and she had no doubt he would comply, but the litany would still be running through his mind:  _whore… bitch… slut… Orlesian._

Sylvie sighed as she locked her office and returned to her quarters. It was no good. She was going to break her heart over Loghain eventually, if she let herself become his lover again. She'd simply have to be the victor in his little challenge, although it would be a hollow victory, indeed.

…

One good thing to come out of the mess between Loghain and Sylvie was that he seemed to have finally fully committed himself to being her second-in-command. He'd handled the Keep's affairs admirably in her absence, and she was amazed to find he was as capable an administrator as he was a tactician. It seemed the Maker really had meant the man for a position of authority, having blessed him with so much talent for leadership. If he kept it up, she'd promote him to Warden-Constable.

She hadn't yet found time to sit down with him and review the Warden business he wished to discuss, but Varel had briefed her on the projects they'd completed while she was gone, and they were all worthy and appropriately prioritized. She could also see that he'd completed most of her reports for her, which was an intense relief. She hated paperwork.

Sylvie glanced at the clock on the wall. In ten minutes, the Wardens – minus Justice – would file into her office to discuss the events in the Blackmarsh. Sylvie couldn't bring herself to include Kristoff's possessed corpse in Warden affairs; she still was still rather inclined to kill it. She wasn't sure what was holding her back – some grief over Kristoff, perhaps, although his current state of being was so horribly unnatural that true death seemed much kinder. Maybe she was afraid of unleashing a demon, should Justice become separated from Kristoff's body. Anders would throw a fit if she summoned the templars, but honestly, what else could she do? She needed advice.

The Wardens appeared at her door and she bid them enter. They lined up in front of her desk, with Loghain and Nathaniel Howe at opposite ends on the line, as always. Nathaniel  _hated_  Loghain. He blamed the former regent for using Rendon Howe as a scapegoat for his crimes, and resented the fact that Loghain would have an opportunity to redeem himself while the Howe's suffered in ignominy. Sylvie could see his point, although she wished he would let it go. Their strife amused her a little, simply because they were so much alike, both in temperament and appearance. She'd once jokingly asked Loghain – back when they were on more intimate terms – if he'd been putting the horns on Arl Howe when Nathaniel was conceived, but Loghain had assured her that even if he'd been inclined, the Arlessa was not the type of woman to allow a man of common blood into her bed, titled or not. Having seen the dour portrait of her in the Great Hall, Sylvie had said she thought it would have greatly improved her disposition. Loghain had accepted the compliment with a chuckle but protested that he'd been a happily married man at the time, and that even if he hadn't been, he'd have sooner seduced a wyvern. Sylvie had forgotten about how they used to laugh together in bed sometimes. When she thought of him lately, she thought mostly of fucking, and coming, and harsh words.

The Wardens were staring at her expectantly as she gathered wool in her mind, and Anders' polite cough drew her back to the present. They reviewed the expedition to Blackmarsh and what they'd learned, both of the fate of the village and the strange darkspawn. Sylvie only briefly mentioned Justice and did not seek any counsel on that situation, as she was still too upset about Kristoff to discuss it. To her amazement, Loghain kept his mouth shut and didn't criticize her, which frankly would have been justified even if he didn't usually pick apart her decisions.

Since it was obvious that something sinister was afoot with the darkspawn, they all agreed that the next step would be to investigate the Deep Roads entrance that Captain Garevel had mentioned.

"As it happens, Commander, I took the liberty of approaching the hunters who discovered the chasm on our way back from Amaranthine. You should be pleased you were spared their nonsense, but they did mark the location of the cave for me. I will be happy to update your map." Loghain's announcement was made with neutral tone and expression, but Anders lifted his eyebrows and Oghren snorted.

"What's that on yer nose, Loghain?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not the diseased discharge of a whore. Can you say the same?"

"Hehehe."

Sylvie was both amused and revolted. "Enough, gentlemen. Thank you, Loghain, for sparing me an extra trip to Amaranthine. If you'll remain a moment, there are a few other issues we should discuss. The rest of you are dismissed, and I expect to find you in the training yard.  _All_ of you.  _Anders._ "

Anders grumbled. "The yard master will just send me out again when I set the training dummies on fire…"

"So practice  _ice,_ " Sylvie laughed, and sent them on their way.

Loghain stood before her in his light training armor, with his hair neatly braided and his face freshly shaved. He looked absolutely delicious, and Sylvie's nipples tightened beneath her leather tunic. She was glad her armor was too thick to reveal his effect on her, but it didn't bode well that she was aroused just by looking at him.

"You mentioned you had some items to discuss?" she said, hoping her expression didn't betray her thoughts.

"Yes. The conspiracy against you, the Deeps Roads entrance, a few reports, an issue with Oghren… where would you like to start?"

Sylvie grimaced and brought her hand to her head. "Oghren. Varel mentioned he's harassing the servants."

Loghain nodded. "I'd hoped the chance to 'swizzle his twizzle' in Amaranthine would temper him but…"

Sylvie burst out laughing. "To what?"

Loghain shook his head. "I don't know. He used some absurd colloquialism, and ridiculous as it sounds to approximate it, I find that distancing myself from any sensible term protects my sanity." Although his expression was utterly put-upon, humor lurked in his icy blue eyes.

"I suppose I get the gist. That must have been what he was doing when I entered the Greasy Wheel. I got quite the eyeful."

"How awful. Not literally, I hope. Do you need a leave of absence to recover?"

Sylvie laughed again. "Believe me, Loghain, I've seen more shocking sights than Oghren's 'twizzle' in my lifetime. I'm pretty difficult to offend."

"And yet, I managed," he said softly. He wasn't smiling anymore, and neither was she.

"Yes, well, we all have chinks in our armor, right?" she said briskly. "I'll speak to Oghren. Varel is going to poison his ale if I don't rein him in. What did you learn from the Dark Wolf?"

Loghain crossed the room to the atlas stand and picked up the large map of the arling that they used to plot their maneuvers. "May I?" he asked, standing beside her. She nodded, and he unrolled the map and spread it on the desk.

"According to 'Ser Wolf,' the conspirators intend to meet in a fortnight here, at the Old Stark Farm." He pointed to a place on the map, and then drew her in front of him so he could reach past her and grab the quill. He brushed up against her fully as he did so, his crotch colliding firmly with her ass. Sylvie gasped a little and looked at him sharply, but Loghain simply stared down at her and offered a bland smile. "Something wrong?"

"No," she said shortly, not wanting to acknowledge that his very first gambit had affected her. He put his hand on her waist to guide her closer to the desk as he circled the location of the farm with the quill. His arm was warm across her back and he smelled like soap and leather. Sylvie's pulse quickened as she resisted leaning into him. His hip and shoulder brushed against hers and she knew he was doing it on purpose.

"I suggest we delay any excursions into the Deep Roads until after your conspirators have been confronted. The chasm is all the way over here," he reached behind her with his left hand and pointed to a spot in Knotwood Hills, effectively trapping her between his body and the desk, "and who knows how long that expedition will take. You don't want to miss the opportunity to confront your enemies."

"I agree," she said shakily. He passed the quill from his right hand to his left, encircling her in his arms, and then placed it in her hand, gently stroking her knuckles.

"You are left-handed, are you not?" His mouth was next to her ear and his voice was low and warm. "Will you mark this spot right here?" He moved his finger in a small circle over the place on the map where the hunters said they would find the Deep Roads entrance. Sylvie watched in fascination as she thought about what else his fingers could do, and then slowly reached out and circled the area, scrawling a barely legible note to mark it. She hoped he would attribute her poor penmanship to her distraction.

"Thank you," he said, but he didn't step back to release her. His breath was hot against her ear and his body was hot against her back and he was barely even  _trying_  and already she wanted to fuck him on the desk. Maker, she was in trouble.

"This is your idea of professional?" she choked out finally. Loghain laughed, and the low rumble sent spirals of pleasure through her core.

"We're getting our work done, aren't we?"

"Wouldn't you say this kind of behavior from my second-in-command 'invites remonstrance?'" she asked, trying to throw his words back at him. Loghain seemed unfazed.

"Then reprimand me, Commander," he purred, bringing his hands to her hips and pressing his cock against her ass. Sylvie couldn't help but arch her back and rub against him, pulling a sigh from his lips in the shape of her name. "Sylvie…"

She realized she was about to give up not ten minutes into his attempt, and it wouldn't do, so she twisted out of his arms and moved to the other side of the desk.

"Enough, Warden. You obviously have some pent up energy you need to release, so go to the training yard and work it out. We'll review the rest of your concerns another time."

Loghain nodded with a small smile and fire in his eyes. "On your order, Commander. I'll look forward to resuming our discussion."

…

By the end of the week, Sylvie's nerves were shot and she'd soaked through more sets of small clothes than she cared to count. Bloody Loghain was  _relentless._  Every chance he got, he lit her on fire with a covert caress, or a word in her ear, or sometimes just a look. He knew he was gaining ground – his advances had begun to take on a smug air of superiority that irritated and aroused her in equal measure. Sylvie wasn't quite sure what she was waiting for. She knew she was going to fuck him eventually, but she supposed she was rather enjoying his seduction campaign and she wanted to make him work for it. She'd nearly kissed him on the battlements when he'd asked her to come up to inspect the ballistae – a pretense that had quickly dropped away when he'd pushed her up against the wall and murmured confessions of desire against her lips. She'd stood there – breathless, caged in his arms, his lips so close that when he spoke, she could feel the heat of his mouth against her own – and she'd definitely whimpered.

But then she'd remembered the last time he'd pressed her to a wall, and then gotten shitty with her when she'd playfully claimed herself irresistible to him. What a dick. She'd ducked under his arm and escaped, but there'd been a definite swagger to her hips as she walked away, and when she'd glanced over her shoulder, Loghain had to drag his eyes up from her arse to glare at her.

This morning, he'd sat next to her at breakfast and slid his hand along her thigh under the table, then dragged her to the armory to discuss "supplies" that were conveniently located in the spot where they'd first furiously fucked. As he'd nattered on about outfitting the men, he'd slid his palm along the surface of the chest that had supported her weight when he'd taken her roughly, spewing hateful words the whole time. Maker, Sylvie had loved every minute of it. She'd watched his large, capable hand move across the coarse wood and sighed. He'd fallen silent, and when she'd looked up at him, his expression wasn't challenging or seductive or self-satisfied. It was almost wistful, like he missed those simple, needy confrontations as much as she did. She'd sighed again and abruptly left the armory.

"Warden-Commander?" A runner appeared in the doorway of her office. "Captain Garevel and Warden Loghain request your presence in the training yard."

Sylvie huffed irritably and made her way outside. If Loghain embarrassed her in front of the captain, she'd kill him. When she entered the yard, she was greeted with the sight of Garevel in his shirtsleeves and light leggings, and Loghain stripped bare to the waist and holding a towel looped around the back of his neck. Both men looked sweaty and invigorated, as if they'd had a lively sparring match. Sylvie was sorry she'd missed it.

"Gentlemen? What can I do for you?" She tried to keep her eyes on Garevel, because if she looked at Loghain's toned, glistening arms and chest, she would probably lose her mind and pounce on him right there in the yard. He  _knew_  she couldn't resist the sight of him with his shirt off. Underhanded bastard.

"Warden Loghain made some excellent suggestions for improving our training program. We'd like to discuss them with you, if you have a moment?"

"Of course," Sylvie replied, hoping the flush on her cheeks would be attributed to the mid-morning sun and not the fact that her favorite Warden was standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. He smelled delicious, like sunshine and sweat and hard work and hot man. Garevel explained the changes they wanted to make to their training regimen, with the occasional clarification from Loghain, and Sylvie thought they sounded sensible. She asked the captain to write up a proposal and leave it on her desk, and promised to sign off on it the next time she was in her office.

"Excellent, I'll get to it right now. Thank you, Commander." He strode out of the yard, leaving Sylvie alone with Loghain. She reluctantly turned her eyes towards him and found that he was watching her with just a trace of amusement lurking in the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you for your suggestions, Warden," she said, not able to stop her gaze from traveling across his broad, muscular shoulders.

"My pleasure, Commander," he said mildly. He picked up a canteen from the bench and drank deeply, and a trail of water escaped his mouth and ran down his chin. Sylvie watched it travel down his sun-browned throat as he swallowed, and then mingle with the moisture on his hairy, sweat-slicked chest. When she returned her eyes to his, he definitely looked smug.

"You really don't play fair," she said quietly. He smiled.

"You can have me whenever you want me, Sylvie. Now would be a good time, actually. Garevel and I had a good match and my blood is up."

Sylvie bit her lip and exhaled. Loghain stepped closer to her, rubbing the towel across his belly, and she longed to lick the trail of dark hair disappearing into his breeches.

"Haven't I been an exemplary Warden all week?" he asked her. Maker, his voice.

"You have been," Sylvie admitted. "And I don't want that to change. You've been very focused on your work since we … since we changed our arrangement, and the Wardens have benefited from it. I'd be selfish to distract you."

"Be selfish, then," he growled, "because I assure you, I'm already distracted. If anything, it would help me become more focused. Right now, you're constantly on my mind."

Sylvie smiled at him. "You just need to be more disciplined."

"I'd rather discipline you," he threatened, his voice a playful purr. "You're going to give in eventually, and when you do, you'll have some payback coming to you for this week of senseless delays."

"Maker...," Sylvie muttered. "I'd better get back to work. Go take a bath, Loghain. A cold one."

The general grunted in frustrated amusement. "On your order, Commander," he sighed.

…

Sylvie sat at her desk and stared at the letter in front of her, feeling sick and panicked. She'd finally forced herself to go through Kristoff's belongings and she'd found a missive from his wife that announced Aura was planning to come to Amaranthine – was perhaps already on her way – and what would she find? Her beloved husband's reanimated corpse fighting alongside the Wardens. Horrible. Sylvie couldn't allow her to see Kristoff in this state, but she didn't know what to do. She began to prepare a note to send to the Amaranthine Chantry, begging the advice of the templars there. As she wrote, Loghain entered her office and closed the door.

Sylvie looked up at him, and his predatory expression changed to concern as he took in her face. "Sylvie, are you all right?"

Her eyes filled with tears at his unexpected inquiry. "I don't know," she admitted. "Kristoff's wife is coming here. She may already be on her way, and even if she isn't, I don't know if I could get a message to Jader in time to forestall her. This is awful."

Loghain frowned and leaned his hip against her desk. "I'm not sure I understand why we've allowed this situation to continue. Wouldn't it be more merciful to put the poor man out of his misery and release whatever spirit is trapped inside his body?"

Sylvie explained Justice's concern that killing Kristoff – again – wouldn't send him back to the Fade, and she added her own fears that she might release a demon, or a being with the potential to become a demon, if she did so.

"And," she added sadly, "the duty to execute the creature would naturally fall to me and I struggle with it, even though I know it would be a kindness. Kristoff was a dear friend. He joined shortly after I did, and he taught me much."

"I was under the impression Kristoff had been a Warden for quite some time," Loghain said, sounding surprised. "If he joined after you did, either you age incredibly well, or you were terribly young when you were recruited."

"I was fifteen," Sylvie replied. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Loghain how she came to join the Wardens. It wasn't a pretty story, but then, neither was his. She hesitated, then continued. "It was an impulsive act of compassion on Riordan's part. He shouldn't have done it, but I'm grateful that he did."

"What happened?" Loghain asked softly.

Sylvie sighed and then pointed to the sideboard. "Pour drinks and pull up a chair, if you want to hear this tale." Loghain did as she asked, setting a glass of whiskey in front of her and then drawing a chair up to her side of the desk so that he sat facing her, their knees nearly touching.

"I grew up in a village halfway between Val Royeaux and Val Chevins. My parents ran the inn, and I was their only child. When I was fifteen, a group of chevaliers stopped with us for the night. I'd been helping my mother serve them wine, and as they got into their cups, they took increasing liberties with me. My father was ready to send me upstairs for my safety, when the captain of their unit dropped some coin on the bar and announced it should be fair recompense for their use of me." Sylvie was amazed that the feelings of panic could surface so quickly, even after it had been so long. Her voice shook, and Loghain put a comforting hand on her knee.

"My father explained that I was his daughter, not a tavern wench, and still an untried maid. That only seemed to incite the chevaliers further, and it soon became clear that the incident would not end without my violation, and perhaps my father's murder. Riordan, who had also rented a room, intervened and conscripted me on the spot. The chevaliers were furious, but there was nothing they could do at the time. They left for the next town and no doubt assaulted the next innkeeper's daughter, or his wife, or whichever unlucky woman happened to cross their paths." She sighed. "Riordan and I also left that very night, and I never saw my parents again. A few weeks later, their inn caught fire and they were killed in the blaze. I had no doubt who caused it."

"Sylvie, I'm so sorry," Loghain said softly. He reached out and picked up her hand, squeezing it gently and rubbing it with his thumb. "Do you see now why I despise Orlais? It's despicable, the liberties they allow their chevaliers, as if the people they use were nothing but pigs!"

Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Yes, Loghain, I get it. Orlais is terrible, Orlesians are horrible, and we should all go rot. Good point."

"No, forgive me," he said, scooting closer and brushing her knee with his fingertips. "That was a thoughtless thing to say. I didn't mean to include you in my condemnation. You are Orlesian, yes, but you've suffered under the boots of the cheveliers like I have. We're not as different as I thought."

Sylvie snorted ruefully. "And yet more different than you realize. Do you know why I leave all of our paperwork to you?"

His brow wrinkled and his beautiful eyes reflected confusion. "I assumed you just didn't like it. Most people don't, and it's your prerogative as commander to delegate undesirable tasks."

"It's because I can barely  _read_ , Loghain." She watched him carefully for the scorn she was sure would come, but he simply looked surprised. "When Riordan rescued me, I was an illiterate tavern girl who had never used a blade for more than chopping onions, and I had no prospects for bettering myself. Montsimmard was appalled when they'd found out what he'd done, and they nearly recalled him back to base. I vowed to him and to myself that I would become the best damned Grey Warden Orlais had ever seen, and that I would never make him feel that he'd wasted his pity on me." Tears jumped to her eyes again and she cursed herself, but she couldn't help it. "So you see, when you tell me you think I'd make a better whore than commander…,"

Before she could finish, Loghain pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. "No, Sylvie, hush. Don't say it. I didn't mean that, and I certainly wouldn't have said it if had I known. I'm sorry."

Sylvie nodded against his chest. "I know you didn't know. Just, please don't say it again."

"Never," he promised. "I…understand you better than you think. My hatred of Orlais and the chevaliers isn't merely patriotic," he confessed to the top of her head. "When I was a young man, barely older than you were when you joined the Wardens, I lived with my parents on our farm near Oswin. The Orlesian emperor demanded a tribute tax from Fereldan landowners, and it increased every year until eventually, we couldn't pay it. When the Orlesian soldiers came to collect, my father refused. In retaliation, the commander of their unit… used my mother as you would have been used, right in front of us. Then he cut her throat and I watched as her blood spilled out on the dirt that had choked her screams."

Sylvie tightened her arms around him in sympathy. It was a sickening story, all the more so for how common it was. "I'm sorry. I hope you killed them all!"

"My father had his revenge," Loghain said dryly. "And I suppose in my own way, so did I."

"I did, too. There were five of them, and they're all dead now. I saw to it."

Loghain tipped her chin up with his hands and stared fiercely into her eyes. "Good. No doubt cleaner deaths than they deserved, but the world is better for being rid of their filth."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then he bent his head and his lips slowly descended on hers. They were firm, but soft, and he kissed her with a restrained passion that made her knees weak. Sylvie never would have guessed that their first kiss would have been laced with shared grief and rage at the injustices they'd both suffered at the hands of brutal, arrogant men. Her heart pounded desperately as her tongue tangled with his, and her throat ached with overwhelming emotion. She wanted him so much, and not just physically. Finally, she pulled back, panting.

"I'm sorry, Loghain, I can't."

He bent his head and forced her to look at him. "You can't what?"

"I can't be with you right now. I'm too emotional and it's too much. I feel as though I'm going to cry at any second, and I don't want it to be that way with us."

Loghain offered her a small smile. "Your tears won't offend me, Sylvie."

"Well, they offend me," she said mulishly, wiping her eyes. "I don't want to burden you and I don't want to get hurt."

The imposing general looked thoughtful at that. "However you feel, it's not a burden to me, and I have no desire to hurt you. But maybe we should take some time to get our thoughts in order before we proceed. I do wish to proceed, though. Do you?"

Sylvie sighed and nodded. "Come to my room tomorrow night. I don't want to talk, I just want to fuck."

Loghain let out a little huff of laughter. "Well, I can certainly do that."

"I know you can," Sylvie said with a sly smile, anticipation curling in her belly. "Now get out of here and let me have my womanish breakdown in private, if you please."

He kissed her again, slowly and deeply, and then sighed against her lips. "On your order, Commander."


	7. Renegotiation

Loghain knocked gently on the door to Sylvie's quarters, but he didn't wait for her to bid him enter. She was standing next to her dresser brushing her hair, wearing a loose linen tunic and, presumably, nothing else. He was struck by the domesticity of it; though she looked nothing like her, for a moment Sylvie reminded him of Celia, and of the simple intimacy of husband and wife. Then she turned and regarded him with a hungry, feral grin, and he stopped thinking about Celia altogether. At her pointed look, he took his shirt off and dropped it on the floor, shaking his head at her predictability.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his palms down her arms. Sylvie bent her head and pulled her hair over to one side, offering him an irresistible invitation to kiss her neck. Loghain inhaled the slightly spicy scent of her skin and trailed his lips from her shoulder to her jaw, nuzzling her roughly. Sylvie leaned back against his chest and he slid his hands around her waist and up, cupping her breasts and squeezing them while he licked her ear. She let out a soft sigh that stoked his desire, and he pressed his erection into her backside as he toyed with her nipples through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I need you, now," she hissed, turning in his arms and tipping up her chin.

"Of course, you do," he said against her lips, smiling at her irritated grunt.

He kissed her deeply, one hand splayed against her back and the other curled in her hair. Sylvie was impatient, struggling on her tiptoes to kiss him harder, to take control. Her fingers tugged at his belt and he slid his hand between her legs to toy with her slick, hot cunt. As soon as she freed his cock, he grabbed her hips and seated her on the dresser, pushing inside of her with a quick, sure thrust. Sylvie buried her face in his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, practically sobbing in relief as he fucked her. It quickly became apparent that unless they wanted everyone in Vigil's Keep to be alerted to their activities, the dresser was an unsuitable piece of furniture to use for support, so he picked her up and walked backwards until his legs hit the bed. Loghain laughed a little as Sylvie impatiently shoved his shoulders down so that he was laying on the mattress, then repositioned herself and sunk down on his cock, flinging her tunic over her head and across the room.

In this position, Sylvie always took very little time to reach her climax. She ground her hips hard against him, and he reached out and pressed his thumb against her pearl to help her along. She looked absolutely glorious, riding his cock like a madwoman as her beautiful breasts bounced and swayed. Maker, he had missed this. He could feel himself reaching the edge, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to hold off until she peaked. When the walls of her cunny began to clench around him, he let out a hoarse shout and grabbed her hips, pumping energetically as she crumpled against his chest and quaked. It felt impossibly good to empty himself inside her warm, wet tunnel, and when he bucked through the last spasm of his climax, he sighed happily and kissed the top of her head, his hands resting loosely on her back.

Loghain realized he wasn't sure what would happen next. They had reached the point in their interludes at which, traditionally, he would get dressed and go back to his room, but he wasn't particularly inclined to do so. He'd prefer to linger, recover, and have another turn, but he didn't think he could bring himself to ask her to let him stay, in case she said no. He kept his hands on her back, tickling her skin gently with his fingertips, as she sprawled on top of him with her face against his neck. She made no move to separate herself from him, and Loghain wondered if perhaps they would just lay there, joined together, until he was ready to have her again.

"Well," he said eventually, "this is usually when I leave. I don't want to keep you up if you're tired."

Sylvie sat up and looked at him, her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm. Hesitantly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Loghain accepted the kiss, sliding his tongue out to meet hers as his hands tightened against the lithe muscles in her back. She shifted her hips and he slid out of her, but she didn't roll off of his body. Instead, she ran her hand up his side as she kissed him, sighing a little when he reached down to cup her backside with both hands.

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to," she said against his mouth, not looking him in the eye. "I'm not tired, but… it's up to you. I'd understand if you prefer not to stay."

"I'm not in any hurry," he admitted, and then laughed at himself. "Well, at least not in any hurry to leave. I couldn't be inside you fast enough. I hope you managed to enjoy yourself anyway."

Sylvie grinned at him. "You know I did. You're very efficient. No wonder you're so good at running the keep."

"I wouldn't consider those to be overlapping skill sets, but that's Orlesian logic for you." He smiled as he said it and squeezed her arse, hoping the joke wouldn't sting. Luckily, Sylvie was in a good mood and she laughed, bending her head to nip his ear.

"That's because the Fereldan imagination is so limited," she purred. "You can learn a lot about a person from the way he behaves in bed."

It would have been very easy to make a joke at her expense, implying she bedded her recruits to choose her Wardens, but he knew better than to go anywhere near that subject. Instead, he chuckled and expressed a firm wish never to hear what she'd determined of his character from their encounters.

"Believe me, this behavior is not typical. Whatever you think you've learned of me, it's the exception, not the rule."

Sylvie's desire seemed to be reigniting. She flexed her hips against him, laughing in his ear as she listed off several traits – not all of them flattering – that she believed she'd discerned of him when they'd fucked. He had to admit her list was rather accurate, even by his own estimation.

"Do you want to know what I've learned of you?" he asked her, squeezing her breast in his hand.

"No," she said shortly, tucking her head under his chin.

Loghain harrumphed. "Then move aside so I can get undressed. If I'm not leaving, I might as well take off my boots."

"And your trousers, if you please," she said tartly.

"On your order," he said. Sylvie smiled and stood up.

"Would you like something to drink? Water? Wine? Whiskey?"

"Water, if you don't mind," he replied, pulling off his boots and his breeches.

He set his boots under her table, folded his pants and placed them on top of it, then retrieved his shirt and belt from the floor and added them to the neat pile. Unable to help himself, he also picked up her tunic and folded it, setting it on the dresser. She watched him with an amused glint in her eye and then handed him a glass of water. Her own cup appeared to have wine in it, and she took a sip, set it on the nightstand and settled on the bed. Loghain drained his water quickly and then joined her, feeling a little awkward. It wasn't as if they'd never talked in bed before, but it had usually come before they fucked, while they were still winding each other up. It felt strange to still be with her afterwards, and he decided that a little foreplay would probably relieve his discomfort. He pulled her body down until she was reclining on the pillows and then stretched out next to her.

"This time, I'm going to take it slow," he informed her. Sylvie raised her eyebrows.

"Do I have any say in the matter?"

Loghain smiled. "Indeed not. If you wanted say in the matter, you should have yielded to me a week ago." Sylvie huffed and started to argue, so he captured her lips with his own and thrust his tongue in her mouth. That silenced her complaints. He kissed her slowly, palming her breast and rubbing her nipple with his thumb, until she grew relaxed and pliant again. When he released her, she smiled and then reached over and picked up her wine. She offered it to him and he accepted a sip, waiting for her to set her cup down before he kissed her again.

"While you were conducting your pointless and unnecessary experiment in deprivation, did you touch yourself and think of me?" he asked, trailing his fingers up her bare leg, following the curve of her thigh to her hip.

"Of course," Sylvie laughed. Her fingers slid through the hair on his chest and he grunted happily when she brushed her thumb across his nipple. "I actually tried not to since I was angry with you, but it was no use. I can't seem to sleep at night unless you get me off, one way or another."

"Mmm," Loghain replied, feeling rather self-satisfied. "I only took myself the one time. And really, you finished me, so it doesn't count." He quirked his eyebrow at her with a grin.

"That's because you're old," she said. "Your libido is a pale, decrepit candle compared to my youthful, raging inferno."

He laughed. "You obviously haven't learned enough about me yet."

Loghain bent his head to suck on her breasts, lightly tracing his fingers in a swirling pattern up and down her legs. Sylvie parted her thighs, panting impatiently, but he took his time in allowing his hand to approach her quim. His tongue flicked her nipple as he drew closer and closer to her center, but just when his fingers brushed across her damp curls, he withdrew them and sat back, releasing her breast from his mouth with a soft  _pop._

She grunted in protest, and he chuckled and pulled her onto her side, curling around her back so that she was pressed against his belly. She tried to reach behind herself and stroke his stiffening cock, but he firmly put her hand on her hip, then trailed his fingers up to her breasts and started teasing them again. The battle continued for several minutes as he tried to focus on her nipples, and she tried to fondle his dick, until finally he grabbed her arm and sat up, huffing in exasperation.

"Sylvie, if you don't stop it, I'm going to tie your hands to the bed."

Something flashed in her pretty blue eyes, and Loghain decided that binding her to the headboard was, in fact, an excellent idea. He retrieved his belt from the table and knelt between her legs, pressing her wrists against the wooden plank while trying to ignore her hot, wet tongue snaking across his belly. Perhaps he would have her mouth while she was tied up – Maker, just the thought of it had his cock throbbing insistently.

"Comfortable?" he asked, caressing her hair gently. She tested her bindings experimentally, and Loghain had no doubt that if she wanted to be free of them, she could escape them easily, but they both knew that wasn't the point.

"I'd be more comfortable if you were licking me," Sylvie complained.

"On your order," he said and she grunted in amusement. He knew she'd meant for him to lick her quim, but he settled himself between her legs with his belly pressed against hers and instead thoroughly worshipped her breasts with his hands and tongue. When her nipples were hard little buds and her moans were ragged and pleading, he rolled off of her and stretched out by her side, passing his hand along her ribs. Loghain looked over at her and found that she was staring at him intently with pink cheeks and parted lips.

"Tell me you want me," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. She kissed him back and spread her legs, rolling her hips invitingly.

"You know I do."

"I want to hear you say it," he hissed, kissing along her jaw as his fingers skimmed across her inner thigh.

"I want you, Loghain," she whispered. "Please."

Loghain growled into her skin and pressed his fingers against her sex, delighting in her desperate whines. He kissed her deeply, fucking her mouth with his tongue as he teased her folds, and she returned the kiss enthusiastically, pumping her hips. He plunged his fingers inside her, and she was so wet, so swollen, and her low moan of appreciation was so lustful that Loghain's cock instantly took notice.

"Please," she whimpered again, and he relented. Crawling down to her hips, he knelt between her legs and kissed her inner thighs. Sylvie watched him, eyes darkened with lust, as he hooked his arms under her legs and pushed them up, reveling in the sight of her totally exposed quim. She looked gorgeous, smelled like sex and the sea, and the delighted gasp she issued when he trailed his tongue across her lips was like a jolt of electricity to his dick – an enjoyable one.

Loghain ardently applied himself to licking her cunt, closing his lips around her clit and flicking it quickly. Sylvie's hips jerked off the bed, and he looked up to see her hands twisting in their bindings and her breasts bouncing delightfully as she writhed beneath his touch. A desire demon would have nothing on this wanton little Warden. He pushed two fingers inside of her and stroked firmly, timing his thrusts with the movements of his tongue, and before long, eager Sylvie was clenching her teeth against screams of pleasure. Her body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat and her chest heaved as she shuddered through her climax, her cunny pulsing against his fingers and drooling into his palm. Loghain pressed his forehead against her stomach and breathed deeply, relishing every moment of her orgasm.

When her spasms subsided, he withdrew his hand and climbed up her body to rest against her. She looked dazed and flushed, and her eyelids drooped contentedly.

"Are you tired, Sylvie?" he asked, reaching for the belt binding her wrists. She jerked her hands away.

"Are you done?"

"I could be," Loghain said, "if you've had enough. You look sleepy."

She blinked slowly and smiled. "I am, but I want to suck you off."

Loghain knew he should probably just let her rest, but her offer was too tempting to pass up. He knelt over her chest and guided his cock to her lips, groaning with pleasure as she engulfed him fully. He pumped his hips slowly, not wanting to gag her but needing to feel his entire length buried in the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. Sylvie, as usual, was quite accommodating, taking him into her throat as deeply as she could and gamely working his cock with her tongue. The sight of her before him, with her hands bound above her head and her mouth filled with his member, drove him wild. It took all his self-control not to buck against her, but she rewarded him with sweet suction and her steady gaze. He stared into her eyes as his dick slid between her lips, and then she slowly closed them, exhaled a deep breath, and rolled her hips erotically, as if sucking his cock were giving her physical pleasure. That did it for him – he felt his orgasm crest and explode and he pulled out of her mouth, spilling his seed across her perfect tits.

"Sylvie," he hissed as he milked the remainder of his climax onto her breasts.

"Why did you pull out?" she asked curiously. "I would have finished you."

"I know," he said, then reached down to trace his fingers through the mess on her chest. "But it stirs me to see you bound before me with my come all over your tits." He grinned and shrugged. "Crude, I admit it. You can add that to the list of things you've learned about me."

Sylvie laughed. "If it stirs you, does that mean you'll stay for round three?"

Loghain smiled and unbuckled the belt binding her hands, massaging her wrists as he gently lowered her arms. "Not tonight, Commander. You're tired. But perhaps someday your youthful inferno won't burn out so quickly, and you'll be able to last for this old candle."

She laughed as he bent down to kiss her goodnight.


	8. Donation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very delicious and very NSFW piece of art is included in this piece, courtesy of my pal Bloody Massive. Enjoy!

The commotion in the corridor outside her office announced Master Wade's approach well before he burst through her door, with Herren and a very disgruntled-looking Varel on his heels.

"I apologize, Warden-Commander. I told him you'd asked not to be disturbed – "

"And I'm not disturbing her! Who would be  _disturbed_  by a fine set of armor? Especially someone wearing… that." Wade eyed her Warden-issued tunic disdainfully.

"Armor?" Sylvie looked at them in confusion. Herren's arms were full of gear, and even from across the room, Sylvie could tell it was very high quality.

"Yes, your new armor! Why Warden Loghain commissioned it while you were afield is beyond me – I couldn't do a proper fitting which means there will no doubt be tedious alterations to make, but I believe I estimated your measurements correctly. Get out of that horrid piece of boiled leather and try this on."

"One moment, Master Wade. What do you mean, Loghain commissioned this? When? With what coin?"

Wade rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "He didn't tell you?"

"Perhaps he meant it to be a surprise," Varel said knowingly.

"Oh, how romantic!" Herren said. " _You_  could take a page from his book, Wade!"

"You want me to make  _you_  some armor, Herren? So you can complain that I'm crafting things you can't sell?"

Herren muttered something Sylvie couldn't catch, but it caused Wade to give him a sly, sideways look. She was too dumbfounded by Loghain's commission to worry about Wade and Herren's argument. Why had he done it? Was it a gift?

Wade was so impatient to begin her fitting that he started tugging at the buckles on her tunic. Sylvie held up her hands and admonished him sharply.

"Master Wade! I can undress myself,  _after_  you gentlemen excuse yourselves to the hall and allow me some privacy."

Varel was already backing out, clearly uncomfortable with the very idea of being in the room while Sylvie tried on the new armor. Herren placed the gear gently on her desk and then dragged Wade out of her office by his arm, bickering with him the entire time. He shut the door firmly behind them, and Sylvie exhaled slowly.

The armor was beautiful – soft and supple, but incredibly tough. Sylvie tested it with her dagger and couldn't tear it. Wade had embossed the griffin-wing symbol of the Wardens on the back of the vest and along the outer seams of the breeches, a lovely but subtle display of her allegiance to her order. She undressed quickly and then nearly moaned in pleasure as she pulled on the leggings. They fit beautifully, neither too snug nor too loose, and yet the leather had a remarkable amount of give and stretch. Sylvie dropped to a squat, and even sat on the floor and extended her legs into a straddle and found that the breeches accommodated her movements without restriction.

The rest of the gear fit just as well, and the boots nearly brought tears to her eyes, they were so perfect. She could creep about without making a sound, and yet even if she stepped directly on an upturned nail, it wouldn't penetrate the tough soles. If the Wardens in Orlais could see her, they would absolutely spit with envy. Armor such as this would cost a veritable fortune… and she realized with sinking disappointment that there was no way she could accept it. Whatever Loghain had meant by commissioning it for her, it wasn't appropriate. If he'd used Warden resources, it was an abuse of power. She had no right to such luxurious appointments when everyone else was making do with standard gear. And if it was a personal gift, it was far too generous. Sylvie couldn't even begin to imagine what he would be trying to signal with such a favor. Reluctantly, she removed the pieces, folded them, and put back on her "boiled leather" tunic.

"Master Wade, these pieces are crafted expertly, but I'm afraid I can't accept them," she said when she opened the door.

Wade gaped at her. "What do you mean, you can't accept them? They're yours; I already made them for you."

"I'm sure you can sell them for a staggering profit. They're exquisite."

"Of course they are,  _I_  made them. For you. Don't they fit?"

"They fit perfectly," Sylvie admitted. "No alterations needed. But I'm sure there's another woman who would – "

"Another woman, your exact size, who needs leather armor strong enough to protect her from an ogre's charge and yet supple enough to let her slip through the Deep Roads undetected? And who would like said armor to come with Grey Warden heraldry?" Herren looked furious. "Oh yes, Warden-Commander, I'm sure there are several such lasses in Amaranthine. If you think you're going to get Warden Loghain's commission fee back for him – "

"What fee?" Wade cried. "I told him the chance to work with the materials would be payment enough!"

"And  _I_  told him we still need to eat, and since the commission would take you weeks, I had no choice but to charge him. He understood perfectly and agree to pay half the fee up front and half upon completion, which he delivered this morning."

"That's outrageous!" Wade complained, and then went off on a long, grumbling rant under his breath.

"How much did he pay you?" Sylvie asked Herren, stunned.

"Fifty sovereigns total, plus the materials, and I  _won't_  be returning the fee, so I suggest you keep your armor," Herren said stubbornly.

 _Fifty sovereigns!_  That hadn't come from the Warden's coffers, so Loghain must have paid it from his personal funds. Between the armor and the Dark Wolf's bribe, the man had spent a hundred gold on her in the past few weeks. What in flames was he thinking?

"Commander Caron," Wade whined, "you simply can't return the armor. It will break my heart to see this beautiful work go to waste. Who but Ferelden's Warden-Commander should wear leather crafted from the skin of the Archdemon?"

"What?" Sylvie gasped. "From the Archdemon?"

"Isn't it amazing? Loghain was given a portion of the creature's hide, scales, and bones as a reward for his role in defeating it. He said he couldn't possibly use it all for himself and he wanted you in something that will, I believe 'actually cover her arse,' were his exact words." Wade gave her tunic another disgusted glare. "He's right, you know. That thing you're wearing is an embarrassment."

Even Varel seemed to agree with that.

"Go put on your armor, Warden-Commander," Wade said imperiously, sensing she was ready to give in. "I need to see to the fit myself."

…

Two hours later, after Wade thoroughly satisfied himself that the armor fit her well and needed no alterations (he was exceedingly self-congratulatory on that point, but Sylvie had to admit his eye was impressive), the armor smith and his clerk exited her office.

"Where is Warden Loghain?" she asked Varel. This gift was so extravagant that it had to be clear to her seneschal that her relationship with her Second-in-Command was more than professional. She felt a little embarrassed, but she met Varel's eye directly.

"In the training yard, I believe, Commander," he replied, betraying nothing of his thoughts on the matter of Loghain's largess.

"Thank you. That will be all."

She stalked down to the training yard, and even though she was thoroughly disconcerted by Loghain's actions, she had to admit that she  _loved_  the armor. She'd never worn anything of such high quality in her life. Leather made from the skin of an actual Archdemon! It defied belief.

It was nearly sundown, and the yard was mostly empty, save a few guardsmen who were still testing their arms against the dummies. She asked them if they'd seen Loghain, and one said he thought the Warden had gone to the washroom. Sylvie thanked him curtly, repressing a grin, and headed off to the bath.

The washroom at Vigil's Keep was remarkable, and Sylvie loved it. The tub was carved out of stone, wide enough to easily hold six men. Since the Wardens had claimed the property, the dwarven engineers had even rigged up a pipe system that allowed the servants to fill the tub from a pump, so the water could be drained and changed easily. Hearths built into the sides of the tub kept the water hot, and the room was dark but pleasantly lit. Sylvie was actually surprised she and Loghain hadn't visited it together yet, but then they were trying to be discreet. Or at least, she was.

She picked the lock easily and slipped through the door, shutting it quietly behind her and locking it again. Loghain was in the tub with his back to her, his head and shoulders visible above the lip of the stone basin.

"Whoever you are, you'd better have a damned good reason for invading my privacy," he snapped.

"I thought you'd like to see my new armor," she said. He glanced over his shoulder, then slid down beneath the water.

When he rose to his feet, Sylvie couldn't help but suck in an admiring breath. He turned to face her, water streaming off his body as he pushed his hair back with both hands, wringing out his dark locks. The warm light from the braziers rippled across his skin, casting his hard muscles in glow and shadow. His cock was already beginning to stiffen, and his pale eyes glinted at her as he took in the sight of her in the armor he'd bought. Sylvie felt almost shy as she stood before him, waiting for him to inspect her new gear, and she shivered a little when he offered her a wolfish grin.

"Do you like it?"

"You really shouldn't have," Sylvie said. "I told Wade I wouldn't accept it, but Herren said he wouldn't give you a refund because no one else would buy it. Maker's balls, Loghain! Why did you do it? I'll never be able to repay you for this!"

He stepped out of the tub and advanced on her, dripping water on the floor.

"I asked you if you  _liked_  it," he growled. "Come into the light."

Sylvie stepped forward, silent as a cat in her new boots, and stood in the pool of light beneath one of the braziers. Loghain stalked around her in a circle, occasionally reaching out to tug and test her new gear. Water trickled off of his hand and rolled down her neck, making her squirm.

"Do you like it, Sylvie?" he asked her again.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love it."

"Good," he said shortly. "Now take it off and get in the bath."

Sylvie frowned. "We need to talk about this, Loghain. I love this armor, but I can't reimburse you for it and it's far too generous a – mmph!"

Loghain's mouth covered hers, silencing her protest. His large, wet body pressed against her as he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her back.

"You're getting my clothes wet!" she cried, turning her head to break the kiss.

"I told you to take them off," he said unapologetically, and released her.

Sylvie huffed and began unfastening her tunic, while Loghain knelt before her and worked on the laces of her boots. She carefully hung up her armor on the hooks lining the wall and set her boots under a bench, then allowed him to lead her by the hand to the bath. He pushed her ahead of him to get in first, then kissed her shoulder as he stepped in behind her and settled in the water. Sylvie leaned back against his chest, sighing as the warmth enveloped her. The bath felt good, to be in Loghain's arms felt better, but she was very uneasy about his gift.

"Are we going to talk about this armor?" she asked him.

"What is there to talk about?" He reached around and cupped her breast, stroking her nipple with his thumb while his lips dragged against her neck, making her shiver.

"It's made from the hide of the Archdemon. It's practically priceless! And you paid fifty sovereigns for Wade to make it! How could I possibly repay you?"

"There's nothing to repay," Loghain said, sounding annoyed. "You needed better gear and I had the means to provide it. Consider it my donation to the Wardens."

"But the Wardens aren't benefiting,  _I_ am," Sylvie said stubbornly.

"In Ferelden, you  _are_  the Wardens, or have you forgotten our recruitment woes?" His teeth nipped her ear as his other hand glided along her thigh. She could feel his cock pressing against her backside, hard and insistent.

"I don't understand your intention with this… donation."

"I intend to make sure your arse is covered so you don't take an arrow to those shapely cheeks," he said. She could tell he was irritated that she wouldn't let the matter drop and was trying to distract her with his hands and his tongue. His fingers slid between her legs and began fondling her folds, while his mouth moved along her shoulder, hot and wet.

"Wade said you contracted him to replace my tunic while I was in the Blackmarsh. We were hardly even speaking to each other then. Was that… was that why you did it? To get back into my bed?"

Loghain grunted crossly and sat back, withdrawing his hand from her sex. He rested his wrists on his bent knees and his forehead against her shoulder.

"You're making too much of this, Sylvie. I had a pile of dragonhide that I didn't need, and you were issued a tunic that looked more like a harlot's 'naughty Warden' costume than armor befitting a Commander of the Grey. So, I rectified the situation. There's nothing more to it, no matter how much your Orlesian mind would like to assign some hidden motive."

Sylvie mulled over his words, dismayed to discover that she felt disappointed by his answer. It wasn't the  _Orlesian_  who longed for meaning behind Loghain's gesture. It was the woman, who had taken him into her body now more times than she could count. Did she hope to be taken into his heart in return? If she did, she was a fool. Loghain Mac Tir was as unsentimental a man as had ever lived and she knew his heart had no room for Wardens, or Orlesians, and certainly not Orlesian Wardens.

When she made no reply, Loghain resumed his attentions. He sucked on her neck and caressed her breasts, one hand drifting down her belly to tease her cunt. Sylvie sighed and rocked her hips slowly, pressing her arse up and down his length. She didn't love him, and she didn't need him to love her. It was her ego getting in her way, wanting to claim some portion of affection from him, just to prove that she could. But what good was Loghain's affection to her? He was surly and sharp-tongued still, though he'd gentled his demeanor and abandoned the worst of his insults since they'd rekindled their affair. She had no doubt that even when he felt tenderness, he was an ornery and difficult man to love. Why would she want to subject herself to the frustration of trying to get close to him emotionally, when he was willing and able to meet her physical needs without such entanglements? It was the perfect arrangement, and her ridiculous hope that the "donation" of armor meant he cared for her was nothing more than pointless self-sabotage.

His fingers pressed inside her as he kissed a trail from her ear to her shoulder, and Sylvie moaned. She pulled her knees in and lifted her hips, and Loghain extended his legs so that she could straddle them. His fingers left her quim and moved up to stroke her nub as she impaled herself on his cock, shuddering with delight as he entered her fully. His stretching thickness felt incredible as she rocked up and down in his lap, but she was glad to be facing away from him. She didn't want to look in his eyes. Or more precisely, she didn't want him to look into hers.

Water splashed over the edge of the tub as Sylvie thumped her arse against him roughly, focusing on her climax. She wanted to come,  _hard_ , and then she wanted to get up, get dressed, and get out of there. Loghain kissed her shoulder blades, murmuring encouragement as she rolled against him, his voice growing breathless as her movements became more frantic. She reveled in his harsh growls in spite of herself, and the feel of his lips against her skin. His deft fingers pressing against her clit centered her and she concentrated on the little flame of pleasure that flickered in response. She bucked against him and it flared. He swiped the pads of his fingers in quick circles against her pearl and it flashed. She thrust her hips up and down, her knees aching against the hard stone basin of the bathtub, and fell forward on her hands as her climax began to build. Loghain grabbed her hips and kept pumping, maintaining the rhythm that she was too overwhelmed to sustain. A mean-spirited part of her wanted to finish and then leave before he could come, but she knew she wouldn't do it, for it would be a clear signal that something was wrong, and  _nothing_  was wrong. The slide of his cock tore cries from her throat, echoing in the dark washroom, and her thighs began to shake as she mounted the upward climb to her release. Loghain's low voice issued praise and prayer as he struggled to follow her over the crest, groaning harshly when he felt her quim begin to tighten and pulse.

"Sylvie, yes," he hissed, thrusting deep and then holding her. They came nearly at the same time, and Sylvie was too shaken with pleasure to resist when he repositioned her between his legs again, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her back against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his ragged breaths tickling her ear, and they leaned against each other wordlessly as they recovered.

"Do you really like the armor?" he asked her, after a moment.

Sylvie's gut twisted. She loved the armor, but now it represented a foolish and impossible hope – and what was dashed hope, but the seed of shame? She sighed.

"I'll be the envy of every Warden in Orlais," she said, and pushed out of his embrace, rising to her feet. "See you later, Loghain."

If she thought he might call her back, she was mistaken.

 

Art by Bloody Massive: [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMassive/pseuds/BloodyMassive) and [tumblr](http://trash-art-alternative.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my pal Bloody Massive for the HOT NEKKID LOGHAIN OMGGGGG. You're the best!! Everyone please check out her awesome fics and hot tumblr! You won't be sorry!


	9. Declaration

"Did you preside over these sort of matters when you were teyrn?"

Sylvie's anxious question drew Loghain from his thoughts, which had revolved entirely around how pretty she looked in the gown she'd donned to hold court for the arling. Varel had informed her she could no longer postpone the duty (he'd rather dramatically claimed that the line of petitioners threatened to extend all the way to Amaranthine), so she'd reluctantly agreed to hear their complaints.

"I did," Loghain replied. He rose and walked over to her, leaning against the wall as she turned to and fro before the mirror, eyeing her own posterior with an expression that was ludicrously critical. She had the loveliest arse he'd ever seen, and the gown displayed her curves generously, but not immodestly.

"Perhaps you'd like to stand in for me, then?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow hopefully.

"I'm afraid I cannot," he laughed. "But I will be happy to stand at your side and offer you my counsel. My wife always did so for me in Gwaren, and I found her advice invaluable."

Sylvie's cheeks flushed as her eyes quickly flitted back to her image in the mirror, and Loghain wondered if he should not have mentioned Celia. He didn't feel awkward speaking of her, but perhaps it was too personal for his Commander. She'd been a bit aloof since he'd given her the Archdemon armor, and he'd come to the conclusion that he'd been too extravagant, too eager.

"She was a good woman, I imagine."

Loghain arched his brows in surprise. He hadn't expected her to take up the subject at all. "A very good woman," he replied. "And quite strong-willed. She understood the people and how to manage the teyrnir, and she kept me from making many blunders."

Sylvie sighed. "I hope you absorbed her skill for management. I'm afraid I'm completely beyond my depth."

"You'll do fine," Loghain reassured her. "You possess both sense and accountability; they are all you need to make a fair judgment."

Sylvie cut her eyes at him playfully in the mirror. "Did you just call an _Orlesian_ sensible and accountable? Someone should have you hanged for treason!"

Loghain frowned. "You're a Grey Warden first, are you not?"

Sylvie's gaze returned to her own reflection, but a twitchy smile lingered on her lips. "A Grey Warden first, last, and always. But still. You said it." She giggled girlishly when he harrumphed.

…

As appeared to be the custom everywhere, petitions from the nobility were given preference over those of commoners, and as it turned out, the very first matter to be settled was a land dispute that could rightfully be blamed on Loghain.

"Lady Liza Packton claims she was granted a tract of land by the former Arl," Varel began, but the lady in question cut him off.

"I do not merely _claim_ such a thing is true, I can prove it," she said haughtily. "I have documents here, signed by Arl Howe himself, awarding me several miles along Hafter River, including the south bridge and all income generated from its tolls."

"That land has belonged to my family for generations, and Arl Howe had no right to deed it to you or anyone else!" a man burst out angrily.

"Ser Derren," Varel announced dryly.

To Loghain's surprise, Lady Liza turned to him. "I supported you in the war, Teyrn Loghain. I supplied you with soldiers, coin, and provisions, at considerable expense to my estate. This reward was promised to me by Arl Howe in recognition of my sacrifice. The unfortunate outcome of the Landsmeet does not negate that."

Loghain repressed a snort, but before he could respond, Ser Derren lost his temper.

"This is outrageous! Arl Howe was a murderer and a traitor! You should be shamed for supporting him, not rewarded! Loghain Mac Tir stands before you, stripped of his title and his lands for his crimes, and yet you expect to usurp mine for aiding him?"

The man boldly met Loghain's eye, utterly unapologetic in his assessment, which Loghain respected. He'd gradually come to terms with himself for this mistakes he'd made during the Blight, some more grievous than others, and he found that Derren's just approbation embarrassed him, but it did not anger him. Why _should_ a Packton, of all people, profit from backing the wrong man?

"Well, this is a little awkward," Sylvie muttered. She held out her hand for the documents that Lady Liza clutched and examined them. "Do they look authentic to you?" she asked Loghain.

He peered over her shoulder. "That's his signature, but it hardly matters," he said quietly, so that only she could hear. "The Crown has chosen to void any contracts made by Howe since the battle at Ostagar. The Queen returned Highever to the Couslands and the arling of Denerim to the Vaughns. I think you should follow her lead in this matter. I will offer Lady Liza a personal reward for her support to mollify her."

"Not too personal, I hope," Sylvie murmured, and Loghain choked back a laugh.

"Are you jealous, Commander?" he asked, and it was all he could do not to scrape his teeth against her neck. But Sylvie flushed and frowned at him, stepping forward quickly to render her verdict.

"The Queen does not recognize contracts signed by Arl Howe during the Blight and neither will I. You will retain your holdings, Ser Derren. But!" She turned to Lady Liza. "Loghain Mac Tir is willing to offer you some compensation for your 'sacrifice.'"

Lady Liza glowered and executed a resentful curtsey before taking her leave.

"I'm not sure you can pay her enough to earn back her support," Sylvie said, watching as the woman stalked angrily through the crowd.

Loghain shrugged. "It's always a gamble to take sides in a civil war. She chose the wrong side. I do not pity her."

"Even though _you_ were the wrong side, and she was loyal to you?"

Loghain harrumphed. "She's loyal to her own coffers, nothing more. Rendon amassed quite a bit of power during our misguided war and the Packtons have always been in his pocket. If not for him, she'd never have supported me. Her father often referred to me as Maric's mabari – they always resented that a commoner was made teyrn while their ancient and noble house wallowed in relative obscurity. Of course, my objectionable blood didn't stop him from requesting my daughter's hand in marriage when his wife's coffin was barely in the ground. Anora was nine, at the time." He shook his head with a low growl of disgust. "I do not miss politics."

"And I've pulled you back in," Sylvie said softly, and Loghain regretted his muttered tirade.

"Forgive me, Warden-Commander. I'm happy to help you administer the arling. These tasks are irritating, but necessary."

Sylvie nodded and turned her eyes toward Captain Garevel as a few of his soldiers marched in with an enormous, arrogant-looking man. Loghain recognized him as Ser Temmerly "the Ox" – the spoiled second son of Ser Tophas Knowles. Temmerly had been a bully and a brute all his life and Loghain had never liked him, even when he was a child.

"Ser Temmerly stands charged with murder most foul!" Garevel cried.

The captain explained that his men saw Ser Temmerly and a few of his goons fleeing the site of a murder with blood on their clothes. And not just any murder, but the slaying of Ser Tamra, the woman who had boldly warned Sylvie of the conspiracy against her the night that Sylvie had secured oaths of fealty from Amarathine's nobility, including Knowles. It seemed such oaths meant little to these people. Loghain resisted spitting on the ground, but barely.

"Have we any more evidence against him?" Sylvie asked Varel quietly.

"No, Commander, but he's as guilty as an ogre is ugly, I am sure of it."

Loghain narrowed his eyes as Temmerly's gaze raked insolently over Sylvie's body. He parted his fat, meaty lips and licked them, his expression at once cocky and resentful. Loghain wished he could plant his gauntleted fist through the man's teeth and be done with it, but even he had to admit the case against him was flimsy.

"I think we have to release him," Sylvie whispered reluctantly to Loghain.

"Unfortunately," Loghain replied. "But he's the sort who will hang himself, given enough rope. We'll watch him."

"Indeed," she sighed. "Ser Temmerly, I do not find sufficient evidence to convict you on these charges. You are free to go."

Temmerly winked impudently at Garevel and made a rude gesture at his men before sauntering out of the keep.

"Ten sovereigns says we see him again. Say… two evenings from now, at Old Stark's Farm," Sylvie murmured.

"Shall I just give you the coin now, or would you like to let the gamble play out?" Loghain replied, smiling at Sylvie's low chuckle.

The rest of the petitions were the sort of mundane squabbles that had always tested Loghain's patience, and that Celia had always managed with aplomb. Sylvie seemed to share his mindset – her leg jiggled impatiently as she deliberated over a stolen goose, a wage dispute, and the case of a runaway goat that had decimated a neighbor's cabbage patch, but she proved herself to be of fair and sound judgment on matters both important and trivial. She even managed to secure a new recruit for the Wardens, a fellow who had been caught stealing grain to feed his children. The poor man didn't seem happy about his sentence, but Sylvie promised his family would be well-cared for at Vigil's Keep, and it wasn't as if conscription was optional, once the Right was invoked. Overall, it was a successful day, and Loghain left the Great Hall with a sense of relief that if one of Ferelden's arlings had to be in the hands of the Grey Wardens, at least those hands were Sylvie's, and capable.

…

That evening when he knocked on her door, Loghain found that Sylvie had traded her gown for her leathers, and he was a bit disappointed. He'd been looking forward to slowly undressing her ever since she'd first put it on. Ah well. She greeted him cordially, keeping up the appearance of professionalism lest someone should come around the corner, but once she shut the door, she pushed him against it and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

"Hello," he said, once she let him up for air, a bit amused by her arduous welcome.

"Take off your clothes," she replied, tugging at the hem of his tunic.

Loghain hesitated. "I thought we'd talk about your day in court. How do you feel it went?"

"It was fine," she said impatiently. "There's nothing to talk about, unless I made some particularly Orlesian blunder you wish to dissect."

Her tone was curt, if not hostile, and Loghain frowned. "Are you angry with me, Sylvie?"

She blew out a frustrated sigh. "No, I'm _horny._ " She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest, regarding him with a stern expression. "Do I have to order you to fuck me?"

Loghain arched an eyebrow and put his hands behind his back. "Perhaps you do. I admit I'm a bit perplexed by your mood and my instincts seem to be failing me. You'd better tell me exactly what you want."

He was relieved to see a playful gleam shine in her eyes as she licked her lips. "Take off your clothes, Warden. That's an order."

"Aye, Commander," Loghain replied, pulling his tunic over his head. After he removed his boots, he slowly unlaced his breeches, watching her with a smirk as she stared hungrily at his crotch. Once he'd shed his trousers, he stood before her and awaited her instruction, his cock at half-mast.

Sylvie stepped toward him and abruptly dropped into a squat, balancing with her hands on his thighs. She tilted her chin up and stuck her tongue out, barely teasing the tip of his growing erection. The sensation sent a throb of arousal coursing through his loins and his dick jerked in response. Loghain watched in fascination as a silvery thread of fluid stretched between her mouth and his stiffening cock, then hissed as she closed her mouth around his head and swirled with her tongue. Her eyes never left his as she suckled him, kneading his thighs with her strong fingers as her mouth pushed his member from swollen to rock-hard.

She stood up and kissed him then, taking him in hand and stroking slowly as their tongues tangled. Loghain left his hands at his sides, returning her kiss but otherwise allowing Sylvie to direct their encounter.

"I want to be fucked," she whispered against his lips.

"How do you want to be fucked?" he asked her, unable to resisted cupping her arse and giving it a squeeze.

"I want you to pull my breeches down and take me from behind," she said breathlessly.

"As if we were having a quick tumble on the road?"

"Yes, just like that." She sighed happily.

Loghain needed no further instruction. He spun her around and pushed her down on the bed, his fingers fumbling with the ties on her leathers. Ever since she'd confessed to him how she'd become a Warden, he'd been mindful of how rough he was with her, for he never wanted to frighten her or bring up bad memories. But it was clear that some part of Sylvie liked it when he was domineering, and she would often grow impatient with him if he was too gentle. Knowing this about her, he tugged her breeches down to just below the curve of her arse and pushed her onto her stomach so that her thighs were trapped between his own. The sight of her, fully clothed except for her exposed buttocks and the beckoning cleft of her sex, was unbelievably erotic to him. From her panting breaths and the way she clutched at the bedclothes with white-knuckled fingers, it was obvious that she was eagerly anticipating his invasion. Loghain pressed his cock against her entrance, not bothering to check with his fingers to be sure she was ready for him – he already knew she was as wet as the Waking Sea.

Sylvie whimpered when he didn't immediately thrust into her and Loghain leaned forward, covering her hands with his own. He kept his rigid member positioned to take her with one snap of his hips and waited until she whined and lifted her arse. It was tempting, so tempting, to tease her for being such an eager little slut, to compare her to an Orlesian bitch in heat, but he didn't think he would ever be able to say such things to her again. It was too difficult to explain that he didn't mean them, or more precisely, that such words had somehow come to hold a portion of affection and desire, as much an endearment as a taunt.

That was actually a startling thought, and Loghain shied away from it, focusing instead on the woman trapped beneath his large body. She'd begun to buck impatiently, hissing out demands to fuck her, and her sopping wet quim teased the tip of his cock much as her tongue had moments ago. The whole of it – her struggling body before him, her frustrated commands, and her slick little cunt just waiting to be claimed – was a tableau he would have been happy to enjoy for a moment longer, but he relented and surged forward, sinking himself inside her.

She howled into the mattress, the blankets muffling her cries, as Loghain kept her pinned down and rutted forcefully against her firm, muscular arse. With her legs pressed together, her sex felt even tighter than usual, and she was already a very snug fit. It felt so bloody good to slide his cock in and out of her quim, thrusting his hips as hard as he could, and he was grateful that she tended to orgasm quickly, for he found his own release upon him so suddenly that he could hardly hold back. They came together, Loghain groaning against her shoulder as Sylvie gasped out desperate pleas, her voice a bit hoarse from all the screaming she'd done with the coverlet between her teeth. The encounter was over almost before it had begun, and Loghain was a little surprised that a tumble so brief could feel so satisfying.

Only with Sylvie was he able to enjoy himself this way. Their affair had started out so antagonistically that he honestly hadn't given much thought to her pleasure at first, and then it had become so obvious that he could bring her to completion without much effort that he rarely worried about it. He'd never been able to feel this free with a woman before, physically. It was both incredibly arousing and incredibly flattering to know how much she enjoyed his touch, and that he could bring her to climax so easily. With Celia, it had been different; she was an affectionate and generous woman and he'd always loved making love to her, but it had taken time and communication to learn how to make her come. He'd been happy to do it – getting to know her in that way was one of the greatest joys of their marriage – but he'd never been able to rely on his own instincts to pleasure her as he could with Sylvie. And with Rowan, Maker only knew if he _had_ brought her pleasure. They were so young then, and he'd been incredulous that she'd even looked at him. He could barely remember what their frantic coupling had felt like, for it was all wrapped up in loss and heartbreak. He'd known from the beginning that their relationship survived on borrowed time, and that sorrow had colored all of his memories of her. He hoped she'd enjoyed herself, but with Rowan, the sex had never been the point.

While he'd pondered, Loghain had shifted on his side and pulled Sylvie – with whom sex was always and only the point – in front of him, his cock still buried inside her. It occurred to him that he'd been laying with his arms wrapped around her, contemplating their liaison alongside his marriage and his affair with Rowan, the two most important romantic relationships in his life. Maker's breath, where were these thoughts coming from? Sylvie was nothing like either Celia or Rowan, and his feelings for her did not compare. Did they? He frowned, disconcerted by his musings.

"Are you asleep?" Sylvie asked him softly.

"No, just wool-gathering," he replied gruffly, kissing her shoulder before pulling away from her and sitting up. "Have I completed my duties, Commander?" he asked her playfully.

"Admirably," she said, still curled on her side. "You may go now."

Loghain didn't expect to be dismissed quite so abruptly, and he furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you're not angry with me, Sylvie?"

At that she sighed and rolled over, tugging her breeches back into place, and then sat up and kissed his cheek. "I'm not angry with you, Loghain. I'm just worried about this conspiracy, and the expedition to the Deep Roads. I suppose it's making me a bit snappish."

Loghain kissed her back, a quick brush of his lips against hers, and rose to dress. "Don't let the conspiracy trouble you. Now that we know when and where these faithless scoundrels intend to meet, we will catch them in the act and nip their sedition in the bud. I imagine they will surrender; they'd be fools to fight us, but if they do, my blade will be ready."

"And mine," Sylvie agreed. "I know you're right, but the very idea of it infuriates me. _Chiens ingrats!_ "

Sylvie's habit of lapsing into Orlesian when she was vexed, which had once irritated him to no end, only amused him now. He laced his breeches and stepped into his boots, half-wishing to stay and kiss the worried creases off her brow. But clearly he had some soul-searching to do – the brief flashes of affection he sometimes felt for her when they fucked were lingering, confounding him with emotions he'd failed to anticipate. He supposed he was a right idiot if he thought he could carry on an affair this intense and never develop feelings for her, but then again, he'd allowed himself to be led by his cock the entire time.

"Good night, Sylvie. Sleep well," he said quietly, moving for the door.

"Good night, Loghain," she said just as softly, looking beautiful and vulnerable sitting in the middle of her bed.

 _Sweet Maker, I want to stay,_ he realized, and shook his head to clear the surprising impulse. He slipped out the door and closed it gently behind him, prepared to retire to his rooms and have a long talk with himself.

…

As Loghain predicted, the confrontation with the conspirators ended up being a non-event. They brought a dozen Vigil's Keep soldiers with them, and when the nobles' hired thugs saw that they were out-numbered two-to-one by highly trained men, they escaped through the fields, leaving their lieges no choice but to surrender. Unfortunately, the oath-breakers were not stupid enough to provide much evidence; Sylvie's men gathered all they could from the house, but it seemed that unless someone confessed, Sylvie would have a hard time proving their treachery. Loghain stared at them with disgust, noting that each one – Lady Liza, Lord Guy, Ser Temmerly and his brother Ser Timothy – had pledged themselves to Sylvie's service.

"Honorless worms," he snarled, and spat at their feet.

"Loghain, I want you to take these criminals back to Vigil's Keep and accommodate them in the underground 'guest quarters' during our long, long investigation," Sylvie said dryly.

"You can't do that!" Lady Liza shrieked shrilly. "This is nothing but a gathering of friends, you have no right to imprison us!"

"Watch me," Sylvie snapped. "Loghain, a word please."

Loghain followed her out of the farmhouse, noting that she was shaking with anger.

"Can I imprison them?" she asked sharply.

Loghain frowned. "For a time, but I'm sure Ser Tophas will plague us endlessly since you have both of his boys, and Lady Liza's husband will no doubt demand her release. We need to find evidence against them, and quickly. I think our best bet is to get one of them to confess and turn on the others."

Sylvie chewed her lip. "Lord Guy was drunk and stupid enough to confront me at the ceremony. Perhaps you could befriend him, give him some ale, and make him believe you resent my rule as much as he does. It certainly would be no stretch to convince most Fereldans that Loghain Mac Tir hates serving under an Orlesian."

"Does the Orlesian believe that?" he asked softly, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"No," she replied, a small smile twisting her lips. "I trust you, Loghain. Will you do this for me?"

"Of course," he said. He knew she needed to leave soon. Not that it mattered once they were underground, but Sylvie wanted to reach the Deep Roads chasm before dark. He found he couldn't stand to let her go though, not quite yet. "Will you walk with me?"

Sylvie looked puzzled but nodded, and looked even more confused when he picked up her hand and squeezed it, drawing it though the crook of his arm. He led her into the walnut orchard, the huge trees providing shade against the blazing afternoon sun. They walked in silence until they were far enough away from the farmhouse that he could no longer hear the men, and then he turned and faced her.

She looked up at him, lush and lovely with her full lips and clear blue eyes. She was a remarkably pretty woman – he'd thought so even when he hated her – and now that she'd come to mean something to him, he found her more attractive each day than the last. But it wasn't just her beauty, or her body, or her blowjobs. When she'd first told him that the nobles of Amaranthine had pledged to her, he'd been furious that any Fereldans would be so quick to bend knee to an Orlesian. Yet when they'd rounded up the conspirators to take them back to Vigil's Keep, he'd felt enraged that they would dare turn on her – Sylvie, his Sylvie – after pledging their oaths. She'd kept her end of the bargain and ruled Amaranthine as justly as any Fereldan arlessa would have, and they'd betrayed her and endangered her life. It made him want to hang every last one of them and be done with it. And he could not pretend that his turbulent acrimony stemmed from his passionate love for justice. No, it was because…

"I've come to care for you, Sylvie," he said abruptly. The expression on her face was so astonished that he would have laughed, if he weren't so determined to unburden himself before he lost his nerve. "I cannot lie to myself any longer and claim that for me, our relationship is still purely physical. I am not asking you for anything now, nor do I expect you to feel the same way, but…" He sighed and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "I anticipate we will be separated for quite some time while you explore the Deep Roads. I'm worried for you, and I didn't want you to go without knowing how I feel. If you don't return my sentiments, perhaps it would be better if we not resume our relationship when you get back."

Sylvie's eyes widened and she tipped her head. "Are you telling me you love me _and_ trying to break up with me?"

"No!" Loghain growled, and she cracked a lop-sided grin. "I certainly do not want to end things, and while I do not yet know how to qualify my feelings, I know if we continue this affair, they will only grow. I wouldn't burden you with them unless you felt something for me, too."

Sylvie smiled and entwined her arms around his neck, suddenly looking more relaxed than he'd seen her in weeks. "To be honest, I've been afraid to let myself grow too close to you, for fear that my feelings would never be returned. But I don't know how to spend as much time as we have as lovers and not develop an attachment. It feels unnatural to me. I want to let you in, Loghain, and I want to be closer to you as well."

Loghain laughed. "You may come to regret that. I'm often a bit of an arsehole."

She grinned. "You think I haven't noticed? I happen to like grumpy Fereldan arseholes."

"Lucky me," Loghain murmured, drawing her in for a kiss. She returned it eagerly and Loghain found he could not tear himself away from her hot, soft mouth, even though he knew it was past time for her to leave with the others. He kissed her as if his life depended on it, his heart thudding with relieved delight that he no longer needed to regard his desire for her from a suspicious distance. She was Sylvie, just Sylvie, and she was his.

"Ahem?" An uncomfortable cough from nearby finally pulled them apart, and Loghain looked up to see Anders stood between the rows of trees, leaning on his staff and grinning. "Well, you just won me ten sovereigns off Nate, so thanks for that, but if we're going to make it to the Deep Roads before sundown, we'd best be off."

Loghain harrumphed and crossed his arms in irritation, while Sylvie blushed and laughed, tucking stray tendrils of hair back into place. "Right. Well. Go along, I'll be there in just a minute."

"Mmmhmmm," Anders said with a knowing wink, and sauntered off.

"And now I'm going to endure awkward teasing for the entire expedition," she said with an embarrassed grin.

"I don't feel sorry for you," Loghain replied, straightening her vest. "I have to drink with Lord Guy."

"That's worse," Sylvie agreed, wrinkling her nose. "Well, I should go. Take care of Vigil's Keep while I'm gone. Um, I'll miss you." She said the last part a bit shyly, and Loghain's heart squeezed.

"I'll miss you, too," he said sincerely. "Be careful down there."

"Always," she promised, and then jogged off after Anders.

Loghain watched her go, worry and affection warring for primacy in is heart and beneath that, a giddy sort of happiness that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He'd nearly forgotten the dazzled, soaring rush that accompanied confessing one's feelings to a woman and finding them returned. He knew as far as declarations went, theirs had been reserved, but considering where they'd started, it seemed like a huge step. It felt good to be able to admit to her and to himself that he cared for her and would miss her.

He glanced down at his breeches, where his erection still strained obviously, his blood stirred by their passionate kiss. His cock certainly would miss her. It would be a long few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: awwww schmoopies! I hope I haven't transitioned their relationship too abruptly. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think.
> 
> It's been soooo long since I updated, so thanks to anyone who is still reading! I'm not sure how much longer this fic will be - I still have a few smutty paces I want to put them through, but it's probably only going to be a few more chapters. I hope my readers will hang in there with me! More wild rides to come (hurhur) for these two! ;)


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